I usually do it on the porch
in old age
lines blur, giving you a headache
it requires a pain reliever
its a metaphor
plushy cotton pill packing
fire kindling doused with gas
just out of reach of the flame
If only fire would arc like lighting
this paper would sail like the Hindenburg,
down the street,
by the park
there’s a tree fort
a little boy sits crying
the bigger kids stole his lighter
told him shut his mouth-
"You're too young to play with flame"
"Keep it up! We'll steal the gas too
set your house on fire!"
more valueless analogy of fire and emotion
meanwhile,
lifeguards stand watch
above the public pool
a dwarfed Mediterranean
polished stone sculptures
chiseled piece by agonizing piece
solid form,
classic replica
the scrap pieces falling to the floor
heavier dust piles,
swimmers bare feet leave footprints on the path to the diving board
and muddy the water
the lighter debris dances in the breeze
coming to rest on whatever it touches,
painting it marble
thwarting a beautiful tan
this sculptor looks tired,
calloused hands,
one bandaged wound from a hammer mistruck
***** apron and a few dull tools strewn about...
I've seen this before
Pieta remade, but not quite right
even that masterpiece was dashed by a hammer
my plushy cotton packing still struggles to kindle
it definitely won’t consume those stones
across the street
the second floor window is dark
curtains drawn, inside
he hurts, cause she said
he only wants me for my body
she, cause he stomped her heart
they both grab a knife,
or at least a rope
their detached parents will find them too late
neighbors will call when it starts to smell
I see three others run out from behind
Ol’ Man Closson’s shop
stolen jug of paint thinner
plan to set the town on fire,
but they’re too scared,
just fools being hooligans
acting tough
no grit
On the sidewalk a stranger smokes
didn't need a lighter
used a match,
made him feel uniquely proud
but people don’t share pricey cigars
doubt he even noticed I watched
I stood up, walked off the porch
showed the sobbing kid a trick
flint, strike
flint spark,
smoke
but no fire
rearrange the kindling, and exhale
we remember
read it in some old dusty survival manual
twenty five cents, picked it up at a garage sale
bought it mostly cause he liked the cover,
secretly it made him feel tough
served it's purpose finally
Viola! A flame
tended slowly
burned out overworked,
became just a glowing coal
gives some heat
but very poor for lighting
a dark room
in the context of the Big Orange Ball,
this tiny candle does little
to assist with lighting the world
if that Bob is taken for granted
we don’t stand a chance
so, I took a nap
a few days later I catch the news:
appears some irresponsible **** flicked a cigarette
set the whole **** hillside on fire.
by accident
it threatens to burn down some suburban homes
fat investors are angry
the scene shifts,
weather reports a seventy-five percent chance of rain
tonight
it’ll fade out