The wail woke me.
sat me up in bed,
I had been sleeping.
outside the dorm
wondering what’s the point
of a fire-alarm test in an ice-storm.
There were no real fires that winter,
spring, summer, or fall,
and, today, there are no sirens at my house,
but every so often something happens that resounds
the scream, the call
to exit, to be brought out of dreaming,
to be cranked out of jack-in-the-box living.