Category: firefighting

All future fire captains are subject to DISC
it will divine who's the leader and who is the risk
but let no one point out it's a desk horoscope
destiny in four colors, no way out, no hope.

And while you think servants can be leaders as well
even though that's not something this model can tell
We'll prophesy that you'll fail, or that you'll lose control
Because our 20 questions have shown us your all.

It's not easy to live
or to have a few breathers
when your gut's full of blood
'cause you fell 20 meters.

There is saggy skin sloshing
while I perform CPR
we both know it's pointless
and yet here we are.

Not much left of your thorax,
the structure's all gone.
Expecting cracking of ribs
yet hear the scrunch of puffed corn.

Don't give me that blank stare.
I'm trying my best!
It's been thirty minutes,
and I could use some rest.

Covered you with a sheet,
and we've cleaned up our gear.
I'm sad, tired, beat.
Hated finding you here.

I JUST WANT TO KNOW WHY.
I heard you have kids.
What went wrong in your life?
Why leave them like this?

With apologies to Wilfred Owen

The peaceful emptiness of dreams. Then -
the fire pager interrupts my sleep
where am I? Fire! Clothes! I need them -
whipped into action by the repeating beep

Bolting outside, cool morning air unnoticed
making one's way towards the engine house
by car, by bike, on foot: others approaching
the siren song is answered without pause

Helmets and suits; an ecstasy of fumbling
jump in the truck; "guys, what is the call?"
ambulance asking assistance; not unusual
we're extra hands. Likely that will be all.

Drive to the scene; too early for our sirens
still waking up, we try to find out more
"It's a hanging, boys" - suddenly it's serious
not just the extra hands we thought before

We're here; ambulance medic greets us
The captain walks ahead; he'll go and see
we must remain; anxious awaiting orders
all the while wondering: "who could it be?"

"It's one of us." No way! It can't! How could it?
Walking forward in our disbelief
Oh God. His coat, his shape, but hanging
go on! there's work to do, no time for grief

Tied to a balcony, out there facing the street
just hanging there. All stiff and cold and gone.
We must ensure the waking world won't meet
this awful sight; we'll cover under dawn.

"Don't look." Too late: his closed eyes staring
we spread out tarps, gaze burning in our backs.
Neighbours awake! And we are still preparing
work faster, now; cover the desperate tracks.

The task is done; pack up and drive the truck back.
We joke, we laugh; we mustn't show the pain
Back at the engine house, helmets and suits off
no smell of smoke. Just memories remain.

Big lumbering guy, with hands the size of shovels.
Mischievous smile, a twinkle in his eye
No signs of pain. But yet enough to kill him.
Could I have saved him, if I had known why?