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the children are in the basement
playing with matches
their faces
glow like jack o'lantern moons,
the flame dancing in their eyes
they strike match after match, rapt
in the flaring hush of each sulfur bulb —
match after match, they urge the flame to
keep dancing, to bloom forever
match after match
they burn their fingers trying
Streetfight
and everything made of metal
knows what to do
sidewalk tables and chairs
leap up, fold themselves flat
hit the dirt like soldiers
half-drunk bottles and glasses
everything fragile
shatter the music, the dancing
s'just a rasta dwarf
high-kicking some offending party
what for,
tables and chairs
don't care.
We have no past —
the Old Courthouse
burned down years ago,
people still talk about it.
We wake up each day
to a brand new world —
such amazing detail!
just like yesterday's!
only with that...new world smell.
Don't talk about memories,
old postcards arriving in the moment's mail —
wish you were here,
having a great time,
and Hey,
remember the Old Courthouse?
We remember, we remember —
you poured the gasoline,
I struck the match.
A Midwesterner by birth, an East Coaster by upbringing, and a West Coaster by choice, Andrew Dugas once spent four years in Brazil by accident. He currently lives in the hills north of San Francisco. His work has appeared in edifice WRECKED, Loafer's magazine, Bear Creek Haiku, Cokefish, Minotaur, Misnomer, Enterzone and various places online.