Becoming a Believer

The locals, believers of gods, drink tsipouro long into the night
And brag to me about how lucky they were to be born here
The most beautiful place in the world, they say
Though few of these guys have ever gone elsewhere
Look at this place, the old fisherman says to me
Waving his sunburned forearms toward the sea
Tell me, the shepherd asks, through his boozy breath
Where else do the stars shine so bright
That you can close your eyes and still see them?
Try it, they insist, sensing my skepticism
Close your eyes and look up at the sky
And wanting to believe, as these men do
I take another sip, reveling in the burn
Then tilt my head back to the star-filled sky
Do you see them? They ask, after I close my eyes
                   Do you still see the stars?
And before I can lie, one of them (I suspect the carpenter)
Punches me in the nuts, and I find myself bowing at a new altar
Reborn as a witness to the glorious wonder of this land

NFPA 70E

My brother, a union electrician in NYC
is a busy guy. Too busy, he says
to do his mandatory online safety classes
So he pays me, a poetry grad student
to do them for him. Which I'm happy to do
Not just for the money, or to help my brother
But because it likely makes me the only poet
able to name the three electrified work zones
and understand the OSHA distinction
between qualified and competent workers
I see this as a poetic advantage, because
isn't poetry the art of examining everything?
And having taken 30 hours of safety training
I can now write poems about PPE
Live-Dead-Live Tests, Shock Risk Assessments
and the Limited Approach Boundary for 220 volts
All of which I intend to do, someday when I’m rested
Because lately I'm up all night, worrying about my brother
Who I suspect doesn't know the first thing about Lockout/Tagouts
As found in Section 120.25 of the NFPA 70E codebook

January 13, 2025