Meditation in an Emergency

Of course it’s sad when someone’s house 
Is burning down, smoke billowing 
From every door and window in
A parody of a girl about 
To blow her lid; of course it is 
No laughing matter; I submit,
However, if among the crowd
Of gawkers in their dressing gowns,
There is a poet, they would be 
Remiss in failing to point out 
The beauty of the cherry red 
And chrome emergency machines
Lining the lane; the flashing lights; 
The iridescent water like 
A rainbow arching from the gleaming 
Nozzles of banana yellow
Hoses; or the ladder leaning 
Up against a passing cloud, 
As if the fellow at the top 
Right now, we’re bartering with God.