never touched iron
nor lit a spark all my ******* shirts
wrinkled
bacon drips like
the metal rusting alone in the yard
rain falling, toast soggy
my pants holy
my shoes smoking
an arc passes throughout the house
down my leg
to the boots covered in
small bits of smoldering
thinking
of how to join
perpetuity
with nostalgic curled
wisps in a
wrinkled shirt
with smoke
and rusty metal
to make a
signal
or a meal