Art Lessons

And were they the most beautiful? The firecrackers we

painted across the street in paper ribbons?

or the rockets we shattered like suburban seaglass

on the dark over the neighbor’s hedges?

 

Even the streetlamps, their silver necks craning to watch

were dimmed by our blazes and Catalan call

 

Was it beautiful when we lay cast about the yard and street

in a haze of gunsmoke, reaching for sleep

with fingers blacked by holding on a second too long?

 

The morning pavement littered cold with

crisped wicks, red cardboard.

 

And a tin can burst with matchheads and caps

scattered a fogged path towards the subway,

roads too empty like a school-hall after hours,

or a shoreline in the winter.

   

1 | 2
 
 
More: And Still And Still