Ballad of a Chinese Power Outlet

When last I looked upon her face,
A smile did greet me.
But gazing up towards her eyes,
A sadness I could see.

This hard cover, a keen disguise,
Protects us from her qi.
But with abundant aperture,
She accommodates me.

While Australasia sits down low,
And joins her on her knee
Euros, Yanks and Japs on top; she shows,
Sun’s thoughts on enemy.

Her inconsistant source of power,
Is no reason to flee.
Take in her chaotic embrace;
The electric Yangtze.

Her modern surface vaguely hides,
A twisted history.
Snaking through cracked and ancient walls,
Cemented with red tea.

Her guts ground deep within the earth;
Beneath the eastern sea.
Powering all lifeblood of the
Petty bourgeoisie

The force in her blackened fissures,
Eager to bleed forth li.
Silently, she stares long and cold,
Just waiting to be free.