The house on the next block is burning
but cool red and blue squares undulate, trade
spaces on my walls as the long arm comes
raining down from uptown. It’s going
up in flames and I’m getting out
of here, seems fair
as some bleary-eyed old version of me boo
hoos into a tinny speaker where
will I go. The drunks steady their awkward
walks home, hold their bilious breath
to watch the copper arms snatch at the sky. Somewhere
a landlord who is me down on my luck is pulling
pants onto her bruised legs, curses
the coming dawn as she smells the sour air
with my nostrils and I lie here thinking of a thousand
ways to spark a fire.