A Fire-Truck

 Right down the shocked street with a
 siren-blast
That sends all else skittering to the
 curb,
Redness, brass, ladders and hats hurl
 past,
 Blurring to sheer verb,

Shift at the corner into uproarious gear
And make it around the turn in a squall
 of traction,
The headlong bell maintaining sure and
 clear,
 Thought is degraded action!

Beautiful, heavy, unweary, loud,
 obvious thing!
I stand here purged of nuance, my
 mind a blank.

All I was brooding upon has taken
 wing,
 And I have you to thank.


As you howl beyond hearing I carry you
 into my mind,
Ladders and brass and all, there to
 admire
Your phoenix-red simplicity, enshrined
 In that not extinguished fire.

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