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