FIRE ICE
Or, A Golden Heuristic For Our Time
No ride; you have to walk. The bars are closed, your footsteps, loud.
Risk glances at all the disrepair out of the corners of your eyes;
You walk more purposeful on purpose, you make yourself slow down,
As you choose to disabuse of fear you doubt the usefulness of lies.
Who's there? A noise from just ahead — it’s too dark to make them out —
You hear them hear you hear them, hear them get — too close — too fast
Unlikely anyone would get involved if they could even hear you shout
You’d easy end up robbed, or worse: this night could be your last.
Just then a sudden blinding everywhere of headlights strong and bright
A honk or two, & calling you by name, a friend, a ride –
An opened door – you're in – it's locked – a miracle of flight –
Safe & sound & homeward bound, protected and inside.
First they came for — then they came for — but, you all know what to do:
Be the friend indeed that you will need when they get around to you.
