Even the fake ones
crackle
with just a little pop of hot ash
I'm not even sure where it comes from
since it is ceramic, not wood, in there.
But the familiar lick of the orange and white
tongues wrapping around the prey, real or not,
and the whip-flapping-crack and the bite and the spit
reaching as high as it can before moving and
disappearing
My chair is pulled close, not closer, not closest
but close enough for me to know the danger
the comfort
the sphere is three feet wide, transparent
and warm enough to encourage those that gather around.
Take care with your bare feet on the tile
burns
might accompany you home since it has done
an exemplary job of working its way out of the
safe haven and black box, and its heat sneaks out across the floor
And when it is finished
ash
cleaning lies ahead for you and your friends have all
left
but that's ok, because even the embers warm your soul
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