~on a scavanger hunt~

Fire in an Upstairs Room


Three thick pieces cracked,
color of red cellophane,
hard plastic, the extinguisher box
showcased on the wall, without
a cover, holds no unit.

Tongue saturated with smoke,
throat of the fire even grasping
for air, the only window breaks.
The blaze bleeds out, shrinking
the room the lingering bodies

have left. Ahead of me, by the
locked entrance, holding in place
two wheels, two handles, two petals-
one up, one down- a maroon seat
and a stand, the base of someone’s
bike that might still be here tomorrow
is red.

Red.