The Electric Bill

The lights‐

they won't turn off.

Every bulb, every lamp,

I've flicked every switch,

downed every dimmer,

pulled every fuse,

dialed up every electrician,

but to no avail‐

they have been of no use.

I can't afford this bill any longer‐

not that I ever could in the first place.

The neighbors are always upset.

"Why don't you turn your lights off?!"

"I can't," -I say.

I've even taken them all out,

Righty-Tighty, Lefty-Loosey right?

They're still on‐

I can't kill the illumination,

I can't think during the day,

I can't sleep at night‐

and apparently, neither can the neighbors.

If I could turn them off, I would-

even if it meant that they'd never come on again.

There all broken now‐

and still, their light shines in my face.

I can't afford this bill any longer‐

not that I ever could in the first place.

But what ever will I do?

Live blinded until all I see is darkness?

Burn the house down?

That wouldn't work‐

nothing ever has,

and I fear nothing ever will.

The lights‐

They won't turn off.

I can't interrupt their current's flow‐

hopefully they'll all just burn out,

and never come back on again.