2 Poems

3rd Generation Fire

Grandpa was Chief,
so was Dad.
The first firetruck was parked in a bay under their hardware store.

This generation is lanky and tall with
mouthy charm.
Easy with the ladies!

Working hard in August heat.
Knocking down the last of a burn barrel overflow.
Taking a breath.

Several acres of black,
spread out all around.
“Guess they’re gonna’ need some grass seed,” he says!

A Week Later

it’s hard to find the place.
You’d think,
that having spent several hours
literally arc welded to a spot,
you’d never forget.

But, fire scenes
are often just
trampled grassy fields
following the big top’s
departure.