poetrywriter
03-04-2001, 09:17 PM
Flames
Smokey the Bear heads
into the autumn woods
with a red can of gasoline
and a box of matches.
His hat is cocked
at a disturbing angle.
The moonlight catches the teeth
of his smile.
His paws, the size of catcher's mitts,
crackle into the distance.
He is sick of dispensing
warnings to the careless,
the half-wit camper
the dumbbell hiker.
He is going to show them
how a professional does it.
No one runs after him
with the famous lecture.
-Billy Collins
http://www.smokeybear.com/images/hom_frame.gif
Smokey the Bear heads
into the autumn woods
with a red can of gasoline
and a box of matches.
His hat is cocked
at a disturbing angle.
The moonlight catches the teeth
of his smile.
His paws, the size of catcher's mitts,
crackle into the distance.
He is sick of dispensing
warnings to the careless,
the half-wit camper
the dumbbell hiker.
He is going to show them
how a professional does it.
No one runs after him
with the famous lecture.
-Billy Collins
http://www.smokeybear.com/images/hom_frame.gif