When he was little

My Dad had a battery collection

The rarest, the triple As, were the crown jewels

The Ds were the muscle

The common, double As, were just lazy and plentiful

The 9V was a spy

With these rules my Dad played in various worlds




He told me that his parent's friends

Always looked away quickly when he showed them his collection

They were embarrassed for his parents, he later supposed

“That's something else” they'd say “You could power Denver”




Then my gentle Dad leaned into me slowly

And grabbing my ear with his teeth

He began to growl in a musical tone

That no one ever noticed

That every battery was a human head