[wpaudio url=”/audio/june11/bradley.mp3″ text=”listen to this poem” dl=”0″]
I’m not burning for you. It is the lighter fluid
five feet away from the fuse of the bottle rocket
that will hit the mannequin hand which will fire
the crossbow into the floating balloon, dropping
a breath mint and an unopened condom
into my palm.

The fire extinguisher is beneath the bed.
The cell phone is open, 9-1-1 already dialed.
I checked the crossbow sights twice.
I Googled the most direct route
to the emergency room. I promise
nothing will go wrong.