by A.M. Broadous
October 2021

Every morning, I feel a spark in
tiny capsules chattering in
translucent orange plastic.

Supercharge me
or just charge me
like a wind-up mouse.

I’ll stop. Start me up again.
Day by day, my body submits to
this cycle of anodes, one

capped compound to always
replace the other. Batteries not
. That’s why God

made the pharmacy.
With a gulp of rounded static,
I am learning my

first steps. Tomorrow, I will
forget, but lightning in a bottle
will jump-start the system.

Somewhere in the dark,
the mind shouts—