Arsonist

When I was young my town had an arsonist,

a barnburner, specifically.

he only did the old ones, the historic ones

that had been standing sentinel

above their fields for generations.

he’d do them at night

splash of gas

and then the inevitable flame…

he had a real hard-on for whorish Time;

Look I’m no arsonist but I’ve burned things

I understand the need for effigy

I know the want to light up your history

watch it sparkle and crack in the night

watch it fall in on itself

with a woof and flash

to know it will finally turn to ash

and never bother you again.

Reviews

[R.E. Ray]

What I read in this poem is more self-destruction than arson... for both the “arsonist” and the narrator.

We destroy things to project our rage, even when it’s with ourselves. We get a high from the act and the aftermath. But, it’s never enough. It’s a brain chemical high we need to numb the pain, not from objects but people. So, the destruction continues. Sometimes it’s fire, other times alcohol, pills, etc.

You’re a good storyteller, JR, and the lessons are good for all to read.

[JR]

Thanks bud. True story on the arsonist. Tried to make the connection between that and burning all the stuff from my marriage. I kind of regret that now LOL. But it sure felt damn good at the time.