The Beach is Burning

--when the power is out and you can see the fires about, might as well make horrible poetry--

The burning hills test my survival skills.
With the fire in sight, I watch on in fright.
Smoke clogs my mind...I just can't think.

So I take a drink.

An aroma of smoked Earth and fruity salt
Comes from the embered skies and my malt

I pour some more Scotch
as we sit here and watch,
This scene of horror.

we drink some more

Time passes, and drains our glasses

More people come, so I grab some rum
Oohh... here comes a girl in pink

slowly now--

I take a drink

--the blaze has burned to the brink--

scared now--

I take a drink

The sun goes down as I swirl my rum around.
Ash rain and the night's glow.
I'll move slow, but it's time to go,
and sleep in my bed.

The next morning I dread

that feeling in my head.

Written on the first night of the fires. I mean this in good fun (I'm not saying it ain't true though) and is my way of dealing with the situation. Because in case you haven't noticed the fires are a little too close for comfort. My heart goes out to all the firemen and those who have lost homes or have been evacuated. And to drink...it was Jura Superstition (the eerie name seemed fitting), Gentleman's Jack, and Bacardi Gold (hey it was on sale)