The Fire Next Door

A pack had moved in after picking the place
Up for cheap In a sheriff’s sale. 
Their addled plan was to rehab, then flip it.
A scheme that fell to pieces once the meth dried up and
Their meager talent in the trades became obvious.
The best of them was an agreeable mutt named Doobie 
who grew fond, not so much of me, but of the kitchen scraps 
that found their way over the fence.
Over time, he got some of the best cuts 
as he needed them more than I did. 

Jamie, still in boots and slicker commiserated
over a coffee in the yard once the fire was out.
Judged it a total loss.
It was that before the fire I told him, and sure
He’d take a shot of Crown in the coffee.
He pointed out that they had raised pretty decent kale
But who couldn’t do that?

Around the corner of the collapsed porch
Entwined in the fence, were the last red tomatoes of the season,
Most gone brown now under weeks of frosts,
The hard green ones will stay that way over the winter.
Stillborn. Come too late. 

One response to “The Fire Next Door

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