Late one dry, cold night there appears
a strange flicker on the curtains;
halfway up the block a refrigerator
is standing on the curb burning.
The flames dance silently beneath
the anemic street lamp, flickering
against the bricks and dead porches
of the boarded- up row houses.
A siren starts to whine
then fades to nothing.
The fire is still burning
when I pull my head
back in. It’s still burning now,
years later, lighting up
the frozen narrow street