Challenging Poetry

Bonfire Night: 5 November 2000

the pallets were piled
higher than a tree, and lit
so the flame burned high and strong—
but no warmth reached us
where we watched,
bundled up in scarves and gloves
and rubber boots that squished
into the sodden ground.
children ran,
some pushing men of straw
taller than they were
in red wagons,
with a clinking can
and pleading expressions—
and the fireworks burst into the sky
in reds and blues and greens
with corresponding gasps
from the crowd.
and straw men burned,
and there were warm drinks,
and the scent of roasting chestnuts,
and much rejoicing.

This holiday stuck in my head mostly because we don't celebrate Guy Fawkes in the United States. In fact, when I tried to explain that in Britain, people have created a major holiday with fireworks out of the time someone failed to blow up Parliament, people here look at me with dubious expressions (as if I might be laughing at them). On the other hand, I never have been able to successfully explain pumpkin pie to a Brit (yes. it's sweet. we like sweet pies.) so I get it coming both ways.