Fire Trucks,11: 03 P.M. Poem by Hans Ostrom

Inside sirens, emergency cycles
through its opera. Inside trucks,
firefighters suppress alarmed fear.
Inside firefighters, hearts cycle

adrenaline, oxygen. Inside
an arsonist, psychic rats chew wiring,
conscience is condemned, humanity
reduced to carbon.

Inside a journalist, a white crow
pecks at scraps of doom. Inside
the burning building, a chorus
of beams wails, moans. Each room

inhales a demon of seared air.
Inside residents who escaped, old people
row across a moonlit lake, and tall grass
whispers thanks to rain. Inside

our appreciated homes and rented units,
we hear sirens syncopate Doppler effects.
Inside our ears, an infant sleeps
through local commotion. Outside

silence now, campfires along
the mind’s rivers go out, leaving
only mutterings of smoke
that leak rumors to the sky.