ghosted west to the sea
and I missed my off ramp
like most of the others
who prayed to the fire gods
oh please, not me,
and I saw from a distance
the mean residue
of burnt chaparral and
blistered black trees,
the carports and cribs
of suburban tribes
who fled with heads down
from their choked memories
and the burnt-out ends
of their west coast lives
that were hidden in rivers
of nameless debris.
I tasted pure luck
in my chilled Chardonnay
and I thanked god this time
I got off scot-free.
