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.