Thought he was a mannequin

melted by the window,

I heard the off-duty firefighter say.

Biggest record collection I’ve ever seen.

Guy looked mummified in molasses.

And I pictured Holiday, Mingus, Monk,

all turning to ooze

while the collector could all but

wrestle the AC

blocking the window to the fire escape

off the goddamn frame.

Poor guy—embalmed

in his own treasure.

And somewhere in the soot

a man at a crossroads

makes a trade with the Devil.

Now, as I set the needle

adrift in wax,

my lover climbs the steps, naked,

holding a candle.