In their yellows
Ready to fight
A fire burning.
You can smell the smoke,
The street lined with trucks
And flashing lights.
So much training
Flexed beneath their shirts,
They stand around
Not knowing where the fire is –
They’re waiting for the call
To line up in front of houses –
The fire raging up the hill,
Rising through the trees.
They hold their places
In their yellows
Trembling in the heat.
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