Fireworks tonight. I`m not attending.
Not due to an excess of curmudgeonliness
I think. I hope. Are you wanting a because?
Because I dont have one. Call it selfishness.
Call it pot pourri or creeping flies -
it makes no difference. Excuses suck.
Excuses suck. My juices are finite.
I know the point past which all else is husk.
I`ve just started to find a source of sauce
to keep me trickling onward. Happy? Yes
I am this now of no pressing demands.
The oo`s and ah`s of fireworks are yours.
I wish you joy with them. I wish you stars
in gold and silver falling like good thoughts
on stilly waters where they hiss and sink
like hot coins to the seabed of best yet.
All I ask is let me stay at home
blind and deaf to all that razzmatazz.
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Hi Sandra, Can I nab your firework poem for my naff little blog in praise of Plymouthian fireworks - it would help to set the record straight?
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