"Because It's Probably True": First non-sonnet post

Because It's Probably True


If suddenly the room burst into flames
orange ivy climbed the curtains
black clouds rolled up and out
and hair floating on waves of heat
crinkled, shrunk away


while everyone obliviously slunk
between table and chair
 bedroom and bath
   beer tub snack bowl
("Nice party, what's this dip?")
while at their backs
a cataclysm
only I could (in this problem)
see--


It takes an effort of
 imagination
to feel my arms go up
to see my jaw drop
to
 (hypothetically)
    taste soot
          ozone
          methane
          new sweat
on my dry tongue
taking the breath with
which I'll shout:


"Hey! Fire!"




I've always been the quiet one.


Of course once if I edging toward the door
 a dampened napkin pressed
   under my nose
saw that
no one
had noticed
(incredibly)
the
    blackening ceiling
    the cd player plastic bubbling
        like Yosemite mud
(I know, but just bear with me)
nothing except
       perhaps
some dizziness
and the fact that the softwhite sandwiches
suddenly
are toasted


then of course would I pop the lock
murmuring, as I stepped outside
to cool air
  wet grass
  green trees
that someone maybe ought to call somebody
and I've had a great time, thanks,
but by the way, some of you might think about


leaving


because it's getting late
and a work night
and the kitchen is on fire and
after all, no one wants to be an ash, hahaha--


But seriously.




I would do it.
If I had to.


But even in this dream it ends
like this:


everyone turning to stare
and smirk or frown or pucker their lips
and (even
         as their flesh
                        cooks off their bones


)


thinking


"Well. Someone
needs


attention."