A Current Ballad

Once I’d invented three new kinds of wire
I twined them all around my kitchen table
To learn which ones would serve like 8-gauge cable
But take up less space, like a miniature lyre
That plays the same notes. Then I could retire,
Unless retirement turns out just a fable.
So anyhow, the damn flow wasn’t stable,
And the workman wasn’t worthy of his hire.

I gave that up, remembering the hour:
The calculations simply were not valid,
And I was meant to be fixing a salad,
So I pulled out the fuse, turned off the power,
And emptied out the fridge, still feeling sour,
Until I thought: well, I could write a ballad.