Requiem for the Fire King
There is a fire in my head and a fire in my yard.
Fire has dominated my year and the National League
for at least as long as fire has competed with pine tar.
Fire is the poem of the next century. That's right, fire,
I'm talking to you. I have a fire in my bombast
and a gutbomb in the gut from all the firewater
I wasn't supposed to drink
When I was fired I drank too much. The burn
helped cool the burn. The fire newt
is long and tall like Jay the Fire King. God
take a bow; you made a fiery concoction of a man
all flamish and rakish and of a fire-like dispostion.
Grab all the flames you can and stuff them
into a calfskin. Sling it over your shoulder
and carry your offering to the altar. There.
On Fire Mountain.