Gehenna

The etymology is important The distinction between hell and the burning place. I still smell the smoke around the corner Normal in the breeze between new rice and river mud. The long slow burn of tin cans and last week’s vegetables, Old cloth and twisted lumps of refuse. The heat curled sullenly beneath a layer Of newer waste, still shiny plastic or damp newspapers But its hunger gnawed through it all Spitting out chalky soot and sudden belches of stench. It was a dare, the sort of whispered threat When a fight was imminent but no one wanted to be caught. Dare you to stand, two feet in. A half minute, a full stretch of eternity with the sting Coming up through the soles of your feet. No shuffling or dancing. Penance means pain. When in anger, I think of damning you I see you there, ankle deep in your own spew, Feet on fire smelling all your wasted love