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The campfire hates it when you smell of it, 

Like an unsolicited love affair between you two 

With your hair breathing in its cologne 

Staying there for days 

Waiting for the next wash. 

 

But they hates it 

Cause the relationship isn’t real 

You haven’t felt its heat at its height 

You can’t have relationship that has no pain, 

No burning, 

No scarring, 

It can’t be done. 

 

The campfire giggles, 

It murmurs in tongues, 

Blows in your face, 

Spits on you, 

Begs for attention. 

 

The campfire longs to cry 

It whistles 

For it feels everyone exploits it, 

Takes its warmth, 

And its fiery yet calming personality -  

But no one dares to get close, 

And when they do 

They instantly receive attention. 

 

The campfire despises that it cannot cry, 

It makes it all the more mad, 

Tickles its brain 

As they can inflict the most serious of pain, 

They can’t even sneeze 

As it urgently wave its limbs at you. 

 

If the campfire could cry, 

Its tears would fill up the Nile, 

Bring on the flood season 

 

But when the campfire does cry, 

Even Wystan Hugh Auden will waken to see, 

You will all hear a ringing 

It’s right outside your door; 

It’s salmon in the street – 

They’re singing