Rubbing Two Sticks Together
I see those kids again
Her pink hair. His hands
attached to her
butt pockets. Walking down
Airport
Walking down the trail
overlooking the Fire Academy’s
training center. It is more
of a wading
than a walking, the way
they synchronize
their leg movements. They
move as if through
cool ooze, the morass
of skipping classes,
the way a day passes
when you are young
I lose them behind
the Fire Academy stairwell
A fire truck ladder
lands on an open window
Recruits scramble up
And the sun sits. It seems
to think the same long thought
it’s been thinking
since we were born
unedit 
Such a lovely painted story in poetic form!
Thank you Rosebud. I’ve enjoyed reading your work as well.
The ending is fabulous, Britt.
Reblogged this on The Sand County and commented:
This is a favorite.
Good to hear from you, Jeremy. Thanks so much for the reblog x2. I was clicking around on some of my fire-related poems and you seem to appear in the comments of a lot of them (On Nights Without Sex, Future Fire Building, A Brief Explanation of Men…)
I know you’re freezing up there you can just say so.
Up until about a week ago I would have had to own up to that. . . But it seems like warm weather finally reached us too.
I wandered over from The Sand County. This is a sweet and captivating poem. It takes me right there, even on the re-read.
Alice
Glad you did. Jeremy is one of my favorite poets and I’m there all the time in a more lurky capacity.
🙂