Thursday morning and we're back upstairs in the Gateway building on Sankey Street Warrington for
The Bold Street Writers and the prompt from Margaret Hargreaves is...." Spent Firework".
It's the morning after the American Elections..and results...
*
Next morning oh yes the air full
of the smell of burnt gun powder
the garden full of wooden rocket sticks
the early November mist spread across the grass
and after all the excitement
and the frantic preparation
a quiet still emptiness falls on the house
the cats retrieve their normal position
on favourite cushions as they crawl
out from under a sofa
from under a feather duvet
in the unused darkened bedroom
and curl up knowing
that the time has come again
to do some gentle hibernating
and wait for the blessed spring.
And the earth spins as ever
and the morning becomes afternoon
and afternoon becomes evening
and night falls earlier everyday
until soon the world becomes dark.
*
How the seasons turn there is no stopping them
blink and you may miss the moment
when autumn becomes winter then
all the world declares they didn't see it coming
as if it never changed before as if
when taken unawares we feel the panic rise
to fill the mouth with dread though
it's been that way forever and
will be through it all again and
spent fireworks are collected and thrown
on the final bonfire.
*
And sometimes there might be a last trace
of the sparkle that promised so much
last night that firework of promise that fizzled out
and then was no more.
Spent..Empty..No promise..
Forgotten.
forottern.
