We could see it in the distance,
Smell it, taste it.
We thought we were safe,
But it gobbled up the tall trees
And came down the canyon.
My mother cried later
Because she carried away foolish things
And left the baby pictures behind.
I watched the smoke
From my grandmother's house;
It looked pink to me,
And I thought it was
The pink paint of my bedroom burning,
So finally I cried, too.



Tag: Sarcasm