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Grease Fire

By Jeffrey McDonald

Scalding skillet.
Brimmed fluid swirls counterclockwise,
guided by its own aberrant febricity.

Upper story.
Unmindful cuisinier, stoned, remiss tenant.

Lower story.
Hard-working couple slumbers deservedly, soundly.
He dreams of gardens in the sky.
Her gardens earthly.
Dog alert with kitchen odors.

Basement stairs egress.
Boarder’s entrance.
Shared in the tiny kitchen choke-point.

Swirling faster,
longing to meet its flaming accomplice below.
Pan straining, full flame licking the sides now, lining cracks.
Trapped moisture escapes, percolation.
Pan erupts with inauspicious bubbling.

Asleep now, above.
Dreams of fried meal from disremembered venture.

Anxious canine below.
Longs to wake sleeping master, recalls a prior scolding.

Scalding. Pop, pop,
hits flame, leaps to towel.
Slow searing terry, glowing red fragments float away.
Crafty disaster finds its way (always).
Lone sparkle drifts above the swirling fluid.
Spinning faster still, its time has come.
Flare comes to berth.
Burst.

Conflagration.
Chimera assassin.

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