Partial Spontaneous Human Combustion

I am having one of those 
disconnected morning thoughts
that come when I wake up
half an hour before I need to rise
and I stumble around the kitchen
mixing up a glass of cold brew
trying to decide whether I could do
another job in which I might have to
be up this early — say
for the sake of argument

as a reporter
at a crime scene
or a weird scene
where I’d be interviewing a victim
of partial spontaneous combustion
whose arm kept smoldering

She’d casually pat the skin down
to extinguish the flame
now and then as we talked 
saying that this sort of thing
used to happen
to her cousin Davey
but he eventually outgrew it

In my vision she’s damned cute
if you dig Paris Hilton
and surrealism
so maybe I’d break
all the sacred vows of journalism
and ask her out
even though I’m pretty certain 
any relationship would be doomed
from the start

because even though there might in fact be
some kind of spark between us
I’m not sure I’d ever feel comfortable
making love to her
Maybe that fear would just add to
the experience but
when it came around at last
to fuck around and find out
I’d be not pleased to find out

It’s too late to go back to sleep now

Finish the damn coffee dumbass
I tell myself every time 

I’m thankful for real work
Nothing exciting ever happens there
It’s just enough work to keep me awake
It’s just enough work to keep me warm