|
|
|
|
|
Battling
The Beast Wearing
blue coveralls, they sit sometimes for days, laughing, eating,
joking...waiting for one sound, a siren that transforms 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, the 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 red 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. |