The Fire Station
Dante told me of the fires that burn.
The enveloping flame, the truth I will learn.
Circles of underworld, hotter each time.
No means to quench, well there’s a pint in mine!
Outside table service and ash tray too.
I’m thinking, now that’s a strange thing to do.
Maybe it’s ceremonial, if I spark up, do I get bells?
I wonder briefly, did they get water from Artesian wells?
The bottles keep coming, I think that’s nine.
And now we are back to Dante, but I’m feeling fine.
So, I’ve reached Lower Hell, through a virtual torrent.
Socially distanced and cashless too, I’ll warrant
Before I leave, a must, to the bog, after the bender.
Forget Artesian wells, I now know what fills the tender.
Makes me think that ...
In July 2020 the Covid 19 lockdown is winding out and people are returning to work places and routines. For many it's been a long time working in the spare room, on the dinning room table or on their lap. A range of activities have been missed, not least socialising at the end of the shift. The Fire Station is the third in a trilogy marking the event.
It's easy to join our team of readers. Check out this video to see how.
It could be you. Join our team of readers.
More people are writing and thinking about work-based poetry. Does this poem make you think of anything? Send your thoughts to email@example.com.
Send a poem you've written or one you like and we'll share it with other WorkInWords readers.