Firecrackers explode across suburbia
where youths stamp and jostle
in bristling packs
around chippers and video-stores.
The old sit in darkness, doors locked and bolted,
their TVs off, while taxis do a roaring trade,
back and forth from town or the off-licence.
The moon ltrrks, pucka-faced,behind flimsy clouds.
A coven of shrieking kids in glowing scream-masks
head for home with their trick-or-treat loot.
Firemen pray for rain. A blue Toyota, probably stolen,
roars across the tarmac at Early ‘n Late, spins a doughnut
and is gone. A youth in a grey hoodie, his mobile glowing,
keeps watch from across the road
where the line of bare ash stand lance-long,
their last few leaves blowing about like funny-money
while out on the murky green, a piled bonfire sits
waiting for the sparks to fly.