The Fire Inspector blew smoke from his nose
while scratching some marks on the clipboard he held,
a random viewer would have to suppose
the risks of burning are sometimes dispelled;
as blue and grayish tendrils wrapped around
his ruddy visage, he began to cough
and wheeze (a most unhealthy kind of sound)
which made me ask if he’d be signing off.
How often has this pattern been replayed
by people that know better but don’t care,
like scarecrows lighting matches just for fun—
it’s our credo to defiantly trade
security to face the fearsome flare
of flames that will consume us when they’re done.