makings of an arsonist

no time like now, no time like now. listen to

the fast staccato of the fire alarm’s hysteria.

panic everywhere, and fear fear fear, the stink

of sweat and bodies marinated in eight hours

of astronomy-calculus-history-government-

french-chemistry. jumbled footsteps, a mad

screaming frenzy, or maybe that’s just the

caterwauling of the alarm, you can’t tell the

difference. everything’s drowned in noise,

everyone’s up and running like a nest of

termites before a furious homeowner. from

the football field someone sees the smoke

from the cafeteria chimney. phones are

drawn, photos snapped, is it the fire is it the

fire? no, look away! do not let yourself fall

for that bright, superficial curiosity. you know

there is no fire anyway.

now line up alphabetically (what? first name

or last name or teacher’s name or—oh, shut

up!), press your feet hard against the turf,

allow the fraying green fibers to cling to your

shoelaces like flies to sugar. think about the

word fraying. what does it mean to fray? to

fray? a fray? a fraying fray?? what a hopeless

mind. absolute chaos! but honey, they say,

honey honey, the teacher can help you,

school can fix you, here, memorize the

maclaurin series for cosine of x, and here,

interpret the probability that aaron’s favorite

radio station is playing a commercial, this

shall do you good, believe me honey, you

don’t want to end up the one starting the fire

and spending your whole life trying to douse

it out. so go on now, sit at your desk. yes,

that’s it, very good. here’s a paper for you, a

paper for your seatmate, why don’t you work

on this together? oh, and see this red thing

behind your head? that’s a fire alarm, honey.

don’t pull it, okay?