deepundergroundpoetry.com
Where's the Fire?
Another fire drill; we’re freezing in our pajamas.
Whispers: “I wonder if there’s a real fire?”
Rumors: “Do you think someone was smoking pot?”
They float in the cold air, spreading like the flames that aren’t burning inside.
I stand there, bored.
I shout out, “Oh, God! I can see flames in the windows!”
Screams, cries, and then laughter can be heard.
“That wasn’t funny.”
I know it’s not funny.
The fact that we’re standing here, gossiping in coldness, stuck in a routine, is the real joke.
Sorry that I keep looking for sparks.
Whispers: “I wonder if there’s a real fire?”
Rumors: “Do you think someone was smoking pot?”
They float in the cold air, spreading like the flames that aren’t burning inside.
I stand there, bored.
I shout out, “Oh, God! I can see flames in the windows!”
Screams, cries, and then laughter can be heard.
“That wasn’t funny.”
I know it’s not funny.
The fact that we’re standing here, gossiping in coldness, stuck in a routine, is the real joke.
Sorry that I keep looking for sparks.
Published 31st Aug 2009
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22nd Oct 2009 1:53pm
You may not expect this kind of a criticism...but believe me this poem is working...those unfocussed drill-outs provide fun and the theme is inspirational...
