Fire

I’m having a swell time reading Lonesome Dove,

glad I still have 400 pages to go,

but this paperback is one

of a thousand things around me

I would not grab as I dashed into the street

if the house ever decided to burst into flames.

I probably couldn’t find the cat

for all the smoke filling every room,

so let me see, give me a minute…

I should have thought of this earlier

before the fire trucks arrived

and men in helmets were rushing past me.

But here I am out on the lawn in a bathrobe

with a few sleepy neighbors,

red lights flashing all over us.

I’m holding a photograph to my chest

and the cat is sitting next to me,

apparently mesmerized by the flames.

I’m happy with my choice

as I look down at you and me in a frame.

Here’s a chance for a fresh start, I figure.

And as for the ashes of Lonesome Dove,

I can always get another copy, or maybe

that’s just where I was meant to stop reading.