and read the small
print, turning to the page, of what
to do if.
if the there's no heat.
if the red light is blinking slowly,
or fast, or has stayed
on, without ever going off.
i wipe my eyes. the tiniest letters
i have ever seen.
i'm on the chinese page. i turn
to the hispanic page, then the greek
then the german.
i pull off the front panel and examine
what things i can touch without
breaking them, or catching the house
on fire.
gently i feel the wires, the buttons,
the mysterious innards of this beast.
i'm helen keller in a new room
full of sharp knives.
finally i see a switch on the wall.
and try that.
boom. there it is. i've got heat again.
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