Fragment - Franklin's Dragon III

Filling the milk crate with damp,
crumbling tree bones, the police sing
of synchronicity - fill the box,
but wait a few degrees for a fire?
Chuckling, remembering the words
of one the other day "...build a fire, boy!"
Bones shuffles to Franklin's Dragon.
Doors swung open - ashes, nowhere to go -
are shoveled to the side and two logs; wedges;
are slipped in facing each other making a bowl.
Yuppie lazy log of wax and sawdust pressed
together laid upon a piece of old news, bones
steadies, places, presses a bent old screwdriver
three times; precisely scoring, rotating, repeat,
rotate, repeat until all four sides are perforated,
then a quick, hard, rap on the floor - the two inch
wax chunk falls clear of the log for bones
to place within the wooden bowl made
for his burnt offering. Bones crumples
three sheets of newspaper and slipping
them under the grate, lights the pyre.

_{(For A Friend :: 12-22-2009)}