Tapping the Salamander

The salamander will no longer breathe
fire, suck oxygen, make the air a fume
of stinking vapours wound around the town.

They will bleed the blast to its hearth
leave cold the grim grey nugget of the beast
accursed yet beloved, slag at its heart.

See the steel tongue curl and writhe with flame,
loll in a last exhalation of liquid heat
death throes on the floor of industry.