And Why Did Ash Street Not Burn?

If it means, we make it mean.
We’re the things that make things mean,
Things that did not mean to mean,

Like the fires the wind blew through
These towns, burned all in a day,
But hop-scotched, one church but not

The next, not the pub next door,
Some of the graves but not all,
These stores but not those or those,

These homes poor, but not those rich,
These homes rich, but not those poor.
We clean up, take stock, and mourn,

And try to say what it means.
In just a few days we start
To think, hey, this makes no sense

And we swap dark plots. Who did
What, was that fire planned? How could
The wind go here but not there?