I was walking to a friends house at like 11pm, but this part of the street had a dead light. about halfway down, under the post, the music cut when my phone died, and the light flicked on. right under the light was the BIGGEST FUCKING COYOTE I’VE EVER SEEN.
it was just standing dead still, looking at me
I felt my heart skip a beat
the light switched off, and two seconds later when it switched on it had run away
“You’re hilarious,” Bucky deadpans, eyeing his spot on the couch; instead, he tips sideways to lean against the wall, near the light switch. Admittedly, he’s not sure he likes much how hard Steve is on himself, even when he’s joking. “M’not sayin’ a word about how big your mouth is — but hey, you want the glare on the tv, who am I to argue?”
Perhaps it is not
a snap of light.
It is a slow drip
that fills empty bathtubs,
it is a release.
not show up at your door
with candy and flowers.
It grows from within
as long as you tend to it.
In an episode of Friends, Monica becomes obsessed with a light switch that, according to Joey, does “nothing.” Monica, convinced that it must control something in the apartment (“They wouldn’t have put it there if it didn’t do something!”), begins an obsessive hunt to uncover what the switch does. Though it’s scarcely more than a silly subplot, Monica’s dilemma exposes an interesting household problem: Every home seems to have a mysterious light switch somewhere—near the back door, next to the porch light, at the basement stairs, along a row in the den. A light switch that does nothing.
The light switch is a lovely, ordinary thing. You can look at one and understand intuitively that the up position means on and the down position means off. The panel sits flush against the wall, elegant in its unobtrusiveness. The placement of light switches is so familiar that in the dark, you can feel around at the standard height (four feet from the ground) until you find the right panel to illuminate an unfamiliar bathroom.
Light switches exemplify familiar design, which, according to Henry Petroski’s Small Things Considered: Why There Is No Perfect Design, is a name for things that are “so predictable in their form and function that we do not give them a second thought.” We haven’t given light switches much thought for nearly a century now.