Right down the shocked street with a
That sends all else skittering to the
Redness, brass, ladders and hats hurl
Blurring to sheer verb,
Shift at the corner into uproarious gear
And make it around the turn in a squall
The headlong bell maintaining sure and
Thought is degraded action!
Beautiful, heavy, unweary, loud,
I stand here purged of nuance, my
mind a blank.
All I was brooding upon has taken
And I have you to thank.
As you howl beyond hearing I carry you
into my mind,
Ladders and brass and all, there to
Your phoenix-red simplicity, enshrined
In that not extinguished fire.
Submitted by Robert Fish
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Comments about this poem (A Fire-Truck by Richard Wilbur )
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