© Memories of Cracker Night

© Memories of Cracker Night

 I don’t regret exploding all those bungers up an elm tree.

We ran away, my mate and me and laughed so merrily.

But my father, in a lather, took a rather stringent view.

For I’d set the tree on fire and dire consequence ensued.

I’d set the mini dynamite in a portion of the girth,

With the consistency of a tinderbox that was drier than the earth.

Dad came running with bucket of water, then resorted to a hose.

The smoke was growing thicker; it was quicker I suppose…

Than to call for the local fire brigade; I laid low for awhile,

It was clear I was in trouble but still I couldn’t help but smile.

Once the fire was extinguished, in anguish, I reappeared,

Dad had called to me repeatedly now his wrath was unimpaired.

He boxed me ‘round the ears and he used some colourful speech.

He tanned my backside with every item close within his reach!

And finally he confiscated all of my remaining stash;

‘Chopped them up in tiny pieces and then dowsed the final ash.  

So no more Catherine wheels, sparklers or the dreaded bunger...

Was I allowed; my dad avowed to deprive me but I hunger,

Still to relive the thrill, that excitement in the belly,

When you blow up stuff...enough! Now I watch it on the telly!

On New Year’s Eve we watch the pyrotechnics on the harbour.

The colours are so dazzling, entrancing and spectacular.

But something is still missing from the wondrous huge display,

‘Eternity’ burns upon the bridge and senility’s on its way.