I trip down the stairs
Grabbing for the light switch.
It’s dark in the basement.
The room hums with electricity.
I’m not afraid of the dark,
But without color, any room can scare me.
I see the things I look at.
Artifacts from projects paint the work benches.
One wall of tools is splattered with bismuth
From when dad burnt himself with it.
He has been working on growing a beard
To cover the scars on his face.
A bucket of scraps is still under the table
From my first dangerous project
When we built something spectacular.
Is stationed in the back corner of the room
Out of commission since dad grinded through his finger
“How to be Safe Around Grinders”.
A green military box sits upright
200 CARTRIDGES 7.62MM NATO M80 CARTONS M13
Filled with an arsenal
A potato cannon stands tall
After successfully firing over 100 yards.
Lexan glass sits propped against the wall.
The hole in the drywall behind it is evidence
That the glass was not bulletproof.
Our PlayStation 3
Is scattered around the room
Hard drive here
Disc drive there.
The colorful room still hums with electricity
And I see everything.
I don’t have any projects right now
So I turn off the lights
And scramble up the staircase
But I’m not afraid of the dark