Poem -

ONE ALARM FIRE at Highland Manor Apartments

after dark April 26th, 2022

ONE ALARM FIRE at Highland Manor Apartments

Prometheus bound out the heavens
to strike fear in the hearts of men and women
reminding us mortals how like oxen yoked
(together via a wooden beam forced
to undergo strenuous labor)
unlike most elderly residents here
at Highland Manor Apartments
whose arising out of bed exertion
tuckers sexagenarians, septuagenarians,
octogenarians, nonagenarians,
and very small number of centenarians out
nevertheless awakening me

courtesy ear splitting fire alarm
residents in their deep sleep, whom woke
with a start after deafening sound din stoked
immediate fear unbeknownst
how to gauge seriousness of clangor
until details figuratively dribbled out
that one occupant named Jack Barber
(purportedly occupying unit B5)
made well done grilled cheese sandwich
as burnt offering to spirits
linkedin to Lenni Lenape Indian tribes.

Understandable the indigenous peoples
originally occupying Southeastern
Montgomery County, Pennsylvania
rightfully distraught being forcibly evicted
from their land, and blatantly
wiped off face of the Earth courtesy genocide.

Though caught unawares
by surprised renters abed;
most occupants appeared
dazed and confused
and seemed blithe
if they became gratefully dead
unsure how to heed
what did NOT appear
as a practice fire drill,
though yours truly
and the missus fled
toward front - exiting
two sets of double doors;
we learned after the fact

that back doors instead
accessed if an emergency arose,
but I (and the wife) followed
where other older folks
(analogous to zeppelin) led,
the majority bumbling, hobbling,
essentially old fart shuffling,
Yiddish shach? or schock?
Mach? correct me if in error, okay
as I attempt to outspread
before thee, a feeble embellishment
which poetic effort reflects retread
of tired and worn writing techniques.

Understandable, the aversion
living social in a highrise
acrophobia an abominable excursion
untenable to yours truly as incursion
foisted upon peacenik phrased poet
who as a lad suffered malocclusion
necessitating me to undergo
maxillofacial surgery (more'n
mine half life ago) painful operation
maxillary osteotomy, and
quite some years later
all teeth got extracted
attributed to advanced periodontal disease.

If/when part time
gainful employment acquired,
I could identify as indentured servant,
especially if hired
as a taste tester, or poetaster
by strict taskmaster,
who relentlessly teeths me
eventually forcing gumption
to allow, enable and provide
figurative modus operandi
to fight and bite back.
 

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