He'll Never be a Fireman!
He’ll never be a fireman!
She said, as I slowly
Hurried across the floor and out the door and
back around to get some more
unimportant Things I forgot to stuff in my pockets.
He’ll never be a fireman she said to the grown ups
I was dying to prove myself to.
Staring down at my untied shoelace,
I couldn’t see how much they’d rather talk Adultly
in the air above my head.
He’ll never be a fireman she explained,
as if it were a new thought,
to the doctor who smiled because he knew
sitting across from him sat a young moneybag
and its mama.
Firemen are on time
she told me, so I get a watch
and pretend to forget setting it a few minutes early, thinking,
Maybe this way I can get to things when I’m supposed to.
Instead I stare at my eyebrow for five more minutes
In the Mirror.
He’ll never be a fireman! I know, I know
Instead I walk the streets a humble monk,
just minus the haircut.
My kindness Abounds and
(I’m sorry—I don’t have any cash)
I scribble sacred texts due at midnight.
Delaying, I turn them in late.
I can’t be a fireman,
there’s no room for a pole
on the messy side of my messy room
Which has, at times, absorbed my wallet
That always has money in it.
I am surrounded by firemen,
they see fire everywhere
and wonder how I don’t.
It would’ve saved them a lot of burnt clothes if they’d heard her laugh and explain
He’ll never be a fireman!