Friday, September 15, 2023

The Fire Hydrant

Ordinary red,
Context—a meadow

High in spruce and pine,
Barbed wire around it.
Why a fire hydrant?

It was authentic,
Connected to pipes
That sank in the soil.

The grass grew lushly
Around it, not one
House for half a mile.

A hermit hydrant,
A poet hydrant,
A hydrant recluse,

One of the useless
Who ought to have served
Some sorrowful town.

Well, had the woods burned,
It might have helped some,
But absurdity

Was all the value
You’d find in it now.
Red hydrant, deep field.

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