Walking home from work,
I pass a bonfire in a front yard.
Smoke coming out of the top
like the hands of a stadium crowd,
mid-celebration. Five people surround
the fire like five fingers grasping
at a cheddar cheese popcorn ball.
The tabs on the beers pop and someone’s
head pops up from fire to say hello.
“Hello,” I say, “That sure looks warm.”
I walk on and I hear someone say,
“We’ve got plenty of fire.”
I’m half a block away when it
hits me like a launch from a t-shirt cannon
into the back of my head.
Plenty of fire and me with
cigarettes but no lighter. I walk back
and find someone has wandered
away, but everyone left looks over
at me like I am a pop up, soaring
and landing, just barely, in left field.