Flames by Billy Collins

Smokey the Bear heads
into the autumn woods
with a red can of gasoline
and a box of wooden matches.

His ranger's hat is cocked
at a disturbing angle.

His brown fur gleams
under the high sun
as his paws, the size
of catcher's mitts,
crackle into the distance.

He is sick of dispensing
warnings to the careless,
the half-wit camper,
the dumbbell hiker.

He is going to show them
how a professional does it.

by Billy Collins

Other poems by 'Billy Collins'

Introduction To Poetry

Another Reason Why I Don't Keep A Gun In The House

Snow Day

The Art Of Drowning

Today

Litany

I Ask You

Candle Hat

Nightclub

Forgetfulness