Flame Supply

THE LAST DAYS OF FLAME

 

When the last flame factory closed,

the iron mouths of the machines stood open

and still as winter ponds.

 

The asbestos suits of the workers,

like the shed skins of copperheads and rattlers,

were left suspended from their hooks.

 

In town, everyone felt the change.

Scarves tightened around throats, trees shivered,

and the teeth of houses chattered.

 

At the barbershop, the old men circled

a tired war story, drew their chairs inward

and warmed their hands against its pyres.

Done