Wearing blue coveralls, they sit
sometime for days,
Laughing, eating, joking…
waiting for one sound
A siren that transform them
They abandon their armchairs for
overcoats
Of canvas and for rubber boots
Their armor heavy and hot
Instead of trading jokes they
relay directions, And orders, and shout
Reports of the status of the
enemy—
“Flames are visible”
Fear and excitement grip the
hearts
Of the freshest rookie to the
oldest veteran
As they jump into their steel
Trojan horses
Perfect from polishing, washing
checking over and over—
They pray that they have made no
mistakes.
The driver navigates, The craft
through the city streets
He knows as well as his family,
Dodging when possible those that
get in the way,
Hoping those he can’t avoid
will see him first,
They spot the enemy from blocks
away
The phoenix rises far above the
trees licking the sky
They arrive at the scene, and
again the battle cry is heard
“Flames are visible”
Smoke fills the air and their
lungs
As they approach, hoses snaking,
crisscrossing
Coming to life as they surge with
water from yellow and hydrants
That suddenly become grotesque
heads of medusa.
They kick open the doors
Rubber from their boots leaving a
print
Melted by the heat, and trickling
over bubbling paint
Orange liquid flames roll through
the building
Slithering up and over the walls,
Breathing in and out with each
puff of air
With swords of water they charge
and the war begins
They battle –nine or ten
against one
Seemingly great odds
But the nine soldiers will win
Emerging from the battlefield
victorious
As they always do, and eventually
They’ll retire to their
armchairs
Thanking god that this time
nobody
Was hit by the enemy fire
~Unknown author~