Ladder Truck

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Ladder Truck


Uncertified to drive the rig, a mechanic

flipped the ladder truck—the county’s 

only one—and clambered out to watch

what he’d done flame a false sunset

over Glass Mill Road in Chickamauga.   


Commissioner Teems was quick to douse 

the blame on former chairman Whitfield’s 

penny-saving aspirations for the 1.8 million

tax-payers must now dig up to procure 

a new truck, and this time, she ensures us,


insured. Sure, Chief Hodge admits, we could

save a few bucks by going used, but it’ll be 

more than your bucks you’ll want saving 

when it’s your second-story window 

sending up signals. It is the shiniest


issue on hand tonight, but an old 

question: How much of ourselves is wise 

to expend in insuring against the certainty

of the roof caving in? Put another way, 

when in late innings the distant storm

decides of a sudden to be less distant

and lightning first tries its disguise as a blink

over the ball field, do we take the bat 

from the children’s hands or tell them 

this might be a good time to start 

swinging for the fences? Condolences


at all lack of an easy answer,   

Ms. Teems, Mr. Whitfield, Chief Hodge,

and all us balancing brethren reeling

on these rickety rungs between soil and sky, 

but who among us is certified to say? 

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