Red pave stones
gray to charcoal
from years of black
shoe rubber, cigarette butts
and ashes of revelers
consumed by river heat.
I know the truth.
They die of spontaneous
combustion, a spark
from a keg thrown off
a beer truck smolders,
waits for fuel.
Men perch on balconies,
stoke the coals, offer beads
for peeks.
Giddy for necklaces,
women risk regrets,
toss open shirts, fan the fire.
Eight bystanders burst
into flames.
© 2003 Jason C. Jones