Lighting
by T. C. O’Neil
Hanging silently buzzing,
Suspended above this aquarium of air,
These tubes of light flicker and fill
Through stained yellow covers.
Three rows in parallel
Lined up six by three,
Connected to copper
Unbroken by breakers
Weaving circuits and mazes
To some dynamo unseen.
Number ten sulks in darkness,
Still clinging to the ceiling
Unlit and wanted.
I’m told it has for years,
But no one cared enough
To find out what was wrong
Or to fix it.
Number ten is outshone every day
In my classroom–
Unvalued and useless–
At least to those looking only for the brighter lights,
Because nobody values dark lights.
Some people would say that I’m lucky to have light at all.
Others would see the room as seventeen eighteenths (or 94.4%) lit.
A few might complain that sunlight would be greener
Or that the fixtures are sooooo out of date.
I find myself fixated on that fixture X
Because its life, if you could call it that,
Is so wasted.
How many miles of wires and wattage end there in
Frustration? Wasted potential.
Economists.advise.the.efficiency.of.
Focusing on the s-e-v-e-n-t-e-e-n,
Not the 1.
Invest in the lights that light—
the lights already lit–
But that lost light calls to me
With its passive pathos.
Number X needs my attention
Or someone’s anyway
And why not mine?
I’m no miracle electrician,
But I have hands to call one.
I have a voice to explain the problem
And to justify the need.
I have a heart that loves light
And that sees darkness as a plea for enlightenment.
I can try
Lightening.