The Sky on Fire

The Sky on Fire

With a slow, patient grind,
the Metro buss crests Queen Anne Hill,
windows fogged with coffee breath.

A phone slips, clatters to the floor.
Heads turn slowly, then all at once.

Fingers point upward.
Someone whispers, “Look~~”
A woman half-stands, mouth open.
The sky burns orange, raw, alive.

People are mesmerized.
The sky’s on fire.

A little girl tugs her mom’s sleeve:
“Mom… is that what the sun looks like?”

And then it was gone.
And once again, the view
became dystopian streets
under drizzled sheets
of gray.