A smoke alarm chirps so I search for smoke.
None’s found. Perhaps the battery is dead.
I race from room to room like I’m a joke
it plays. Back where I started, overhead
it chirps as if to say, “It’s here, alright.”
I climb a footstool, reach to take it down,
and pull real hard but it’s screwed on too tight.
The footstool wobbles. I, a timid clown,
retreat. Some poltergeist then makes it fall.
But it’s not done. Incessant, its chirps scare
me to the core though there’s no smoke at all.
I glower at it yet it doesn’t care.
The chirping then miraculously stops.
I’ll keep on glaring till my heart rate drops.
