Con Ed

There’s a giant dug-up hole
That takes up my whole block;
If you’re not from the city,
Well, it might give you a shock.

But for city dwellers, such a sight
Won’t cause a second glance;
They’ll recognize that Con Ed’s claimed
Another huge expanse.

They’ll say that gas is leaking
Then usurp ten parking spots,
And then proceed to drill so loud
Your brain will be in knots.

Their orange cones will stake their turf,
Like dogs who mark their trees;
And then the workers all converge,
In vests, to shoot the breeze.

I’m sure they’re doing something real,
But no one knows quite what;
My city paranoia
Used to think it was a plot.

I’ve changed my mind, though – now I’m sure
Their job’s hard as can be;
‘Cause if they hear me grumble,
That’s the end of my A/C!