The Warning

The bacon fat hit the burner ring

and sent up a cloud of gray.

I waited to hear the plastic sing

to drive the haze away,

but the ceiling stayed as quiet as lead.

The casing’s just an empty shell.

Two copper wires, a jagged red,

are all that’s left to tell

that we’re not as safe as we thought.

I’m standing on a kitchen chair

looking for a peace I haven't bought

in a house filled with burnt-up air.