Do You Sense What I Sense?

Said the husband as she burnt the ham
Do you smell what I smell?
(Do you smell what I smell?)
It’s charred, it’s charred; the oven’s all alight
With the men here to fi’re fight
With the men, here, to fi’re fight.

Said the slow man to his pride and joy
Do you taste what I taste?
(Do you taste what I taste?)
A smoke, a musk making us both wheeze
With eyes red and nose set to sneeze.
With eyes red, and nose set to sneeze.

Said the man to whom he’d vowed to cling
Do you feel what I feel?
(Do you feel what I feel?)
A fire, a fire burns the whole household
Let us run out; stop, drop, and roll
Let us run out; stop, drop, and roll.

Said the firechief to neighbors, stopped to stare
Listen to what I shout!
(Listen to what I shout!)
The man, his wife really aren’t that bright
They thought smoked ham needs firelight
Now, their house is qu-ite the sight!

And to ah-all, have a good night!

Photo by F. Hektor on Pexels.com

©2021 Chel Owens

Lost and Found

gianni-zanato-461187-unsplash

Becky always heard housefires described poetically. Tendrils of curling smoke, for example; or, flakes of softly drifting ash. Looking around, she could only think: burned, smoky, ruined.

Clearly, most poets didn’t stand in the charred remains of their own homes.

“That’s about it, ma’am,” the fire marshal said. Becky turned to him. His eyes were red beneath a sweaty, sooty hairline. Becky managed to nod, to dismiss him and his crew. Sighing, she shuffled behind them through the detritus.

“Ouch!”

A box. Squatting amongst flakes of softly drifting ash, she uncovered her fire safe. She smiled, through her tears.

 

Carrot Ranch Flash Fiction Challenge.

unsplash-logoGianni Zanato