- Gina Douthwaite
- Last Updated: 08 December 2009
from throats of gunpowder tubes.
Take notice of me!
Bones of bonfire shift.
Startled sparks light up faces,
skull-eyed, in bushes.
Wisps of grey veil float
like some weary Guy Fawkes` ghost
out through night`s black walls.
Spent sparklers spear out
in webs of wire weaponry
at anxious ankles.
High over midnight
an insistent arc of stars,
still stage-struck, signs off.