Where there’s fire

Where there’s fire
there’s smoke and tear gas
burning eyes
a burning in the gut.

Where there’s fire
there’s a smokescreen
the CNN reporter saying
of course he smells marijuana
the grand-jury white-out
the felonious cigarillos.

Where there’s fire
there’s a smoking gun
trajectories inescapable as the weather
in upraised arms that couldn’t
surrender enough.

Where there’s fire
there’s a cross we keep handy
for special occasions.
Look how quickly its outstretched arms
go up in smoke.

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