How many microfarads

are there in that little wire?

You want to shock me

with a tiny blue bolt of spark?

No! I won’t be shocked, I hate the suspense,

and the danger that little lightning bolt

seems to scream at me.

I cannot complete that horrid circuit

that will infuse us all with the same

random, invisible pain.

I feel it in my elbows; it makes no sense at all,

but I know it’s there, and when it’s there,

though you could split that second with a hair

there is no feeling but that of mutual... shock.

And so you say it’s not so bad, because everyone’s

feeling it, too,

but the pain is unique to each

conductor in our little circuit

of students holding hands.

Our own choice, to be a part, is what

will give us that shock;

some like it,

the daredevils.

Me? I’ve never been a roller coaster

kind of gal.

I have curiosity, yes, I admit,

a current running through me,

a pull toward that shiny machine

of electricity which Tesla

has neatly coiled up inside.

But for me, to touch,

to get too close

is a sharp and dry

needle prick, tingling and harsh.

A fingernail’s quick jab,

warning not to tempt fate like Franklin

with his taunting string dangling in the

quaking, circling electric sky.

I can’t channel those electrons like Edison

or Volta or Tesla.

I tumble through electricity’s fine filament,

not the other way around.

And so I don’t want to get shocked again;

I don’t want that negative charge to attract

to my traitorous body,

so willing to lend itself

to being a conductor

for a force that will numb it and steal its control

and seize up my heart and ignite my skin

on a blaze more urgent and mysterious and powerful

than that mere primitive fire discovered by cavemen.

No, friction is the only common force between this crazed

and exciting energy and that timeless flame fanning

marshmallows at the campfire.

This inferno is electricity and I don’t want its smoky cloud

of electrons washing over me.

I don’t want to let my suffocating body

become the next subject of a discussion

in anatomy.

I don’t want to give up control

of my body and soul

to a current of flowing, raging charges

sweeping through like a wave on fire,

invisible but free and deadly.

Yeah, I’ll pass

on the passing of matchless fire through my body

this time, please.