98poems/chimney

Nothing is ever normal here,
or done in a regular way.
The guy who repaired the roof
is a chimney sweep when that
is what needs to be done.
Trolls, my old landlord
called them, local guys who
work cheap.

They don’t bother
showing up with tools,
so you have to provide
what is needed, screw
drivers, plastic bags,
it goes without saying –
the cleaning up.

None of the romance
of last year’s sweep,
who mounted the roof
in a top hat, just for effect.
Or the sweep next door yesterday
in a t-shirt with a bow tie
painted on.
It’s hard to say
what has more lore
than chimney cleaning,
or as much potential
for scare tactics.
Pyrolysis someone tells me
on the phone,
a chimney fire burns
at 2000 degrees.

The landlord is not concerned,
he’s hoping it’ll go up in flames
’cause it’s insured,
and take the one next door,
which he also owns.
Even my husband assures me
that it’ll be okay,
because, he says, everything
always works out.
My question is:
exactly how?

This year’s sweep
dons a bandana kerchief
and scrapes the build-up
from inside the stove
with a brick layer’s trowel,
which was his occupation
an hour ago.

4/2/98