by cheri sabraw
My heart is beating but my pace is offline.
I should be in the shower, the hot water pounding my muscles into leaner and friskier flesh not unlike tenderizing a brisket.
My coffee is ice cold; the house still shivers in its early morning chill, unable to heat itself.
The beep-beep-beep of the computer’s battery, purchased to alleviate power-surges, drones on. I stare at it under the desk, gray and mechanical, reminding me in syncopated rhythm how mechanized I have become.
I’m trapped here.
The garage doors will not open.
The generator, in an irony of ironies, has a dead battery. As I fiddled, it winked at me in my robe as I feverishly tried to manipulate its buttons. My god, I can’t check my e-mail!!
Strangely, I feel peaceful, unable to open my gate, dry my hair, and ready myself for the day.
The little creek babbles; the blue jays screech, the bulls across the road growl at their cows; a squirrel darts by my window; the dog snores under my feet.
The power is out.