The Fireman

December 2, 2014

With his consciousness awaking,
his soul poised like a roulette pill,
the fireman felt her shaking
and he bade her to lie still.

As he hovered near the ceiling
of the ancient double wide
he couldn’t help but feel her feeling
the ebbing of his salty tide.

He couldn’t bear her smirking
at his impoverished scene.
So when she finished jerking,
he wrapped her body in visqueen.

It’s inadmissible hearsay.
These are things we shouldn’t guess.
But I know the fireman, and his way,
and all the horror that suggests.

Men murder for the perceived slight.
Men murder for a little more.
And then men lie aggrieved at night,
thinking about leveling the score.

Men, aggrieved, sit up at night
to plot revenge and war.


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