Rubbing Two Sticks Together

I see those kids again
Her pink hair. His hands
attached to her
butt pockets. Walking down

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


    • Britt Luttrell

      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.

      • Jeremy Nathan Marks

        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.

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