Prototype (an acrostic poem)

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Putting together yet another try was one of the most satisfying things he did

Reaching down he snapped in the last fitting and took a breath, ready to see if it worked

Of course, building all these iterations was also one of the worst things he could do

They reminded him of the numerous failures he didn’t plan for, that he was a bad engineer

Only he knew there was almost zero chance that the first one would work out of the box

That was the stuff of myths, legends, and dumb luck

Yearning to know if this was the one, he flipped the on switch

Prepared for sparks to fly and flames to claim one more attempt

Except this time it didn’t burn.  It still didn’t work, but that was still progress?

Brush (an acrostic poem)

 

Black hair slowly pulled through his fingers

Releasing the locks he began to get to work

Unkempt snarls scraped by, but he gently unraveled them

Soon he was able to sweep his hands through easily

Her moans of pleasure reminded him how much he liked being a hairdresser

 

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