Prior: I Can See the Weather Coming
I shall name you, claim you, rather than curse you, chop you down, start a petition, or ignore you (impossible anyway, though how I never noticed you till now is beyond me).
At first I didn’t even see you. I saw only the waves and the horizon line for 180 degrees. Sky, sea and rocks below/
Now I see only you, with three drooping black lines, one to my house (yes, thanks for electricity), two to light poles down the street.
Dead center in front you stand, fifty feet below my deck, you, a pole a hundred feet high, right in the way, held up by one guy wire, fortunately not on my lot.
On top of your bean-pole body, your three black lines coil out like wild curly hair flung loose from your grey metal head.
Your cylindrical head, with two fat coiled antennae on top, make you look like an ant, or a horned toad, perhaps — or a space alien in a metal helmet. Whatever, you definitely have a nose.
And something else weird: on the very top of you lies a grey metal egg — not a brain tumor and surely not a miniature hat — connected by wires to two discs facing south and two facing north. More antennae?
(You are maddeningly hard to describe in detail–I’ll have to draw you!) Then, just below your head, a throat gizmo of looped wire hangs down to a ribbed barbell held off from your pole-body by a metal V connected to a rod.
Yet all your body parts don’t so much block my view of the sea, as of the sky. Though two of your droopy black hairs dip down in front of me and touch the sea’s horizon.
Your five other sister pole-bodies do block my sea view to the south, but they stand so much further down Rocky Creek Way that they’re smaller and off to the side, not dead center like you, my closest nonliving wooden being.
You’re an essential, nagging pest. I shall name you Electra.