You open your mouth and engulf the San Clemente Mission in flame,

Bonfires and breeze and look how you’re little Miller High Life escapade gets out of hand,

Look at the aftermath. You saw it coming. You predicted the beforemath.

Go ahead.

To mentors, you’re wrong no matter what,

Go on ahead.

To friends, you’re always circumstantially correct.

You’re led astray.

You’ll have to hide under the pier after this.

“I’m Sorry miss, you have to leave.”

Cue Grammy nominees for Reality Check and Now She’s Bawling category.

[Name Undisclosed] in… (sound of planes releasing chemicals on brushfires),

I’m hoping for a small mistake,

And granite skin,

And I’ll learn.

Until then, a bonfire sounds novel.