Fireworks

 “Penny for the guy?”

Echoes from every street corner;

Where kids hope to make enough change

For a dodgy roll up from their brother.

The chill air carries the faint smell

Of stewing meat and molten sugar.

Boys jeer and drink cheap cider,

As the girls giggle around a cone of cold chips.

This years local celebrity plays host

Over the outdated sound system-

The din drowned out by police sirens,

Not on our estate for a change.

When the first rocket soars the atmosphere is changed,

The children stand in awe,

The once beautiful mums cracking a smile

At the cheesy ballad from their prime.

For once the air really is filled with the sound of fireworks,

Even the lads and dads fall silent.

The smoky air not caused from fags

And no lingering funny musk scent left behind.

It’s not necessarily the setting; Hollywood is miles away.

But when you live in a city of sin, you can’t help thinking-

If God created the stars,

This is the closest we will ever get to Heaven.