In the city you close them.  Some-
one's yell Fire! mostly
at night & a kid retires

to apartment roofs with
the rest of them.  Being
an adult & being probably me, he

has no choice, or little
choice.  Another source of light
is not a star but a

lamppost meditating on power
in good company, in
images in water, the point of

danger, view.  An open hydrant is
the fight in the firemen.  If
the fire didn't take

your dry goods, says
the good company
man, it was the water.

The East Village Poetry Web
Michael Magee