Tuesday, May 10, 2016

20160510 (glowing)

Reading, under good light, maybe by a fireplace--if only I didn't fall asleep



















Readers were spoiled by 

Incandescent lights, our vision

Seduced by its warmth, a

Strength of yellow, even 

In winter it was more like

The congenial sun of summer

Than just light itself with

Balancing bluer hues, that

Colder clarity more suitable

To laboratories, factories, and

Morgues. It was no surprise

Then when the compact

Flourescent spirals which

Were far more efficient in

That they radiated less heat

And better light for reading

Were blessed by the government

To be the only light of the realm.

It was warmth that we sensed

At our ears when we nestled 

In a high wingback, a book 

In our hands, the light from 

A tall floor lamp over our 

Left shoulder, our legs wrapped

In a colorful Afghan, stretched

Leisurely to an ottoman, and

To top it off a light rain against

A nearby leaded glass window,

A fire in the fireplace, and 

The dog asleep at the spark

Screen. That’s the image of 

Warm incandescents no longer 

Available to us unfortunate 

Souls now required to buy 

CFLs in  six packs. We hunger

For that book-fire-dog scene 

And we can’t get it anymore 

Unless we pay through the snoot

At some black market, Craigslist

Or E-Bay. We’re left to violate

Our conservation principles

Or flounder helpless in the 

Cold clear light of day. We 

Could reduce animal fat to

Tallow and make our own 

Candles but for a good hour’s

Reading who knows how 

Much would that take? And 

The suspicions raised by your

Asking neighbors at meetings

To save you their bacon grease,

Fatback trimmings, ham hocks?

They’d soon figure it out and

Report you to the feds for

Production of excess CO2

While reading. Would they 

Sell you their carbon credits,

Or make you go to forced

Indoctrinations like “Reading

By Blue Light,” or “Confining

Reading to Daylight/Sunset

Hours Only”? I’m only kidding

Of course. Trying to amuse—

So you will regard me with

Sympathy when I knock on

Your back door with a gallon

Container and plead with you

For any dirty fryer oil you

Might want to be rid of.









c. J.S.Manista, 2016

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