This is the story of Edison Stout,
Who wouldn't check his batteries out.
His owner's manual left no doubt,
And his EV dealer would beg and shout,
But Edison would not check them out.
And when his GFI would trip,
He just decided to bypass it.
His EV tickled him quite a bit.
His door grabbed him when he grabbed it.
Corrosion grew like some disease
Across the tops of the batteries.
A putrid rainbow, if you please,
Like yellow pus, green cottage cheese.
As wires turned to bluish grease.
The floor dissolved by slow degrees.
Batteries shot (just bought last Autumn).
His ample range was now forgotten.
Charging smelled like something rotten.
The floor like mushy saurbraten.
He'd still be driving it, no doubt,
If molten lead had not flowed out,
And acid geysers squirt about.
Until, at last, said Edison Stout,
"All right, I'll check the batteries out"
But alas, it was too late.
Corrosion covers the car, to date.
From roof down to the license plate.
And Edison suffered a terrible fate.
That's just too horrible to relate.
So EV owners, do not pout
When asked to check your batteries out!
I wrote this one way back in 1996. My apologies to Shel Silverstein.
I borrowed his wonderful poem about
Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout
Who wouldn't take the garbage out.
Lee A. Hart
A poem by Lee A. Hart, © 1984-2019 by Lee A. Hart. Created 3/6/2012. Last updated 3/2/2019.
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