September 2004 / Volume Five / Issue Four
Chris Kornacki
up in flames

weíre back, drinking
at the same shitty bar
thatís along the waterfront
2 stories up because
the liquor is cheap. iím
in that mood again. quiet.
isolated. eyes staring out
the front window
ignoring everyone. the bartender
pours slow draft beers
& is dressed in the tightest pair
of jeans. she ainít going home
with me. the bottle opener shoved down
the front of her pants that
touches my bottle of beer &
pops off the cap is the
closest iíll ever get to
her flesh. hands, mouths, kisses, sex
wouldnít help dissolve this mood
anyway. out the window i can see
the illuminated detroit city &
somewhere in the distance
a building is on fire, the
angry flames spitting out
smoke & ash & death. someone
buys a round of drinks & makes
a ridiculous toast
about the future. i gaze out the window
& make a toast of my own
to the possibility of this building
suddenly going up in flames
with all of us
trapped
inside
it.