Bonfire

I’m glad I’m not a cavewoman

I’d have been suckling 

the babes indoors

or lugging logs 

while the men

hunted the beast

flinted up fire

haunched in the heat

dribbled as the venison roasted

Instead, I heard the bubble wrap snap

the whoopee cushion wheeze

watched the crocodile logs

and the firework sparks 

infringing on dangling winter leaves

with Girl Guide songs 

on the tip of my tongue

Next day on a crater 

with ash at its centre

over diamond heat 

I fried an egg, boiled a kettle, 

skewered bread into quick toast

ate grey-flaked sausages, sizzling potatoes 

and beans for lunch

At dusk I drank whisky 

over a lava pool 

under a crescent moon

Is it the elemental need to survive

or the spit that gets me?

Vanessa Raison January 2021