Remember, remember

Confessions of a nine year old

(remember, remember the 5^th of November)

I remember the night.

Early, latter day, Guy Fawkes.

A month of knocking on doors

‘got any rubbish for a bonfire ?’

I remember the night.

Accumulated papers,

stale news and redundant words

filling the shed with its gossip,

its tindered words

and unfinished serials.

I remember the night.

Flashing lights in the sky

not fireworks in colourful array

not the cracking of bangers

but the spangling sparklers

of emergency lights

the tuneless braying

of the fire engine.

It had been dark in the shed

full of broadsheet anguish

inky wars and weather forecasts

that proved false.

The torch had corroded

lifeless and forlorn -

a candle was a good idea

cheaper than new batteries.

I remember the night.

Putting the candle

on a plastic saucer

was a mistake,

a fuse.

I remember the night the shed burned down.

 

This is part of the November blog chain of writing by members of ChristianWriters.com - please see the full list  of those involved in the right hand column and visit a few of the others.