Awake at Eleven

There was a fire off Second Street
in a town of only four
He tried to tell me
slowly, in an airy voice
eyes distant, though knowing my face
his breath foul and heavy
though not out of place
reversing the words quickly in some backward rhyme
almost unnoticed
and yet

While the fire burned they took turns
boys in loose fit t-shirts
beating back the flames that snaked
and moved hurriedly through the grass
capped in brown

Until someone remembered the bucket
doused the flames
before they reached the propane
usually left on after morning

He tried to tell me
exaggerating the danger,
the small part he played
in watching the flames

Said something about a cigarette
There are plenty of cigarettes
spent and cast aside
mingled with the gravel
that covers Second Street
in a town of only four