Poetry: Worthless Strait

By Majekodunmi Oseriemen Ebhohon

I am standing in the garage,
staring at a massive, chrome device
I hauled back from the showroom
because the buttons looked important.

I told the press it was the most crushing
and most beautiful engine ever built,
and I flipped the heavy toggle switch
just to admire the power gauge surge.

Now the tools are rattling on their hooks,
the windows are trembling in their frames,
and the neighbours are leaning over their fences,
asking how I plan to turn off the turbines
before the block is wiped out.

I have looked on the side of the casing.
I have looked underneath the fuel tank.
There are plenty of dials for pressure,
and a very bright warning light,

but whoever built this thing
neglected to install the lever
that makes it stop.

I lean over and yell across the fences,
“Why stand there, you losers?
Get over here and help me find the button.”

Now I am pacing in circles around it,
occasionally kicking the tires,
warning the neighbours I will plow down their fence
if they don’t find the switch.

I have posted a video of the smoke on Truth Social,
and now I am just waiting for November,
hoping the fuel runs out,
or that someone walks by who can help
with this worthless strait.