The bashing, crashing, splashing, flashing noise!
Each house spits fire, emits its blitz, and higher
Than ever! Seven heavens’ funeral pyre
For Guy Fawkes. My thoughts light awkwardly. Boys
And girls dodge swirling sparks in parks. From dark
Pockets they launch rockets at cars. Stars in
Their eyes, though we despise them, wiser. Din
And colour become duller as we park
And settle in, the kettle on. And yet
It will still thrill a million kids, eyelids
Open, groping curtains, hoping at mid-
Night to see more light (though frightened, I bet).
Remember gunpowder, treason and plot.
Fifth of November, embers glowing hot..
Sun 5 Nov 2006
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