Because It's Probably True

If suddenly the room burst into flames
orange ivy climed the curtains
black clouds rolled up and out
and hair floating on waves of heat
crinkled, shrunk away

while everyone obliviously slunk
between table and chair
bedroom and bath
 beer tub snack bowl
("Nice party, what's this dip?")
while at their backs
a cataclysm
only I could (in this problem)
see--

It takes an effort of
imagination
to feel my arms go up
to see my jaw drop
to
(hypothetically)
  taste soot
        ozone
        methane
        new sweat
on my dry tongue
taking the breath with
which I'll shout:

"Hey! Fire!"

I've always been the quiet one.

Of course once if I edging toward the door
a dampened napkin pressed
 under my nose
saw that
no one
had noticed
(incredibly)
the
  blackening ceiling
  the cd player plastic bubbling
      like Yosemite mud
(I know, but just bear with me)
nothing except
     perhaps
some dizziness
and the fact that the softwhite sandwiches
suddenly
are toasted

then of course would I pop the lock
murmuring, as I stepped outside
to cool air
wet grass
green trees
that someone maybe ought to call somebody
and I've had a great time, thanks,
but by the way, some of you might think about

leaving

because it's getting late
and a work night
and the kitchen is on fire and
after all, no one wants to be an ash, hahaha--

But seriously.



I would do it.
If I had to.

But even in this dream it ends
like this:

everyone turning to stare
and smirk or frown or pucker their lips
and (even
       as their flesh
                      cooks off their bones

)

thinking

"Well. Someone
needs

attention."

Originally posted on The Sonnet Project on May 11, 2007