Emergency Exit

The kitchen is heavy with the scent of the char,

so I stepped through the window to look for a star.

The broccoli turned to a lump of black coal,

smelling like something I can't quite control.

The iron is cold through the seat of my pants,

while the shadows below make a flickering advance.

I watched a gold spark from a cigarette end

fall through the grating and around the dark bend.

The paint comes away in a dry, brittle flake,

like the skin of a dark and industrial snake.

I sit in the quiet of the middle of night,

counting the windows that still have a light.