on the side
of the road.
a black plume of smoke
cyclones into
the blue sky.
it's before the firetruck has arrived.
before the police.
before they've
set out the orange
cones.
other cars pull over, but there
is nothing they
can do.
they want to watch and be
grateful
that it's not their car.
thinking of the story
they will have to tell
when they get home.
the fire has engulfed the metal
hulk on wheels,
while the owner stands
back,
one hand on his hip
as he smokes a cigarette
and talks
into his phone.
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