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Ode to the Powerman

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You drove up in your big white truck
A beacon of electricity through the summer evening if despair.
Just back from Iowa (Nothing but corn as far as you can see)
Sitting in a hot house, I hear a cry:

“They’re here, they’re here!” I rush to see
And there you are,
Gloriously dressed in dirty white tee shirts
Old torn jeans
Beaten hard hats
You are my knight in shining armor.

I celebrate, near tears, as you head into the backyard,
Calling and texting everyone I know,
You shout back and forth outside, trying to get a good look at the damage.
I can barely believe you finally came.

But then—
What? Leaving? Back tomorrow?
I sigh, in a still hot house
Dejected, but hopeful.

Days have passed, and you are still not back.
Why did you leave me hanging, power man?
Why did you fill me with such hope
Just to take it away?

From a day to a few to a week
What will it be next? A month? A year?
I wonder in desperation
Hoping to see you again





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