Bombs

A fire in our house,
nothing to douse it with,
no safe elsewhere to run to.

If I break a window,
outside’s there’s burning too.
No rescue, no escape.

I’m a bomb staring into flames,
preparing to burn
and if possible,

explode, level,
and extinguish this blaze.
It may be all we have.

Looking around 
for fellow bombs. 
It’s grim,

smoky, hot, hard
to see each other,
but when we do

we nod. We know
more or less what 
we are capable of.

We join hands
to make shorter work
of it, hurry it along.

About Tony Brown

A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

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