Fire

Weekend by weekend we measure our lives.
Saving for retirement, we’re so sure we’ll survive.
Unwilling to admit the threshold is past.
The fires this summer are far from the last.

Firefighters call the hotel I work at
and ask if we can cut them a break.
Working all day in the smoke and the heat,
“Can you get us a discounted rate?”

As they keep the city safe,
from industry’s raging fires they say,
“We’ve been working all day in the smoke and the heat,”
“Is there a government rate? I need some sleep.”
“I could use some fresh air, there’s smoke in my lungs.”
“We’ve been driving all day, in hot fire trucks.”
Powerless and pathetic I parrot my boss,
“A room for tonight? Four hundred bucks.”