The sudden fiery outburst of a flowerpot
next door
sharpens the evening with the smell of sulphur.

Rockets rise like resurrected gods and explode between the
wispy clouds
into red, yellow and green showers.

I remember lights from the past,
one time
father was sitting in the balcony and a rocket
came through from under his chair and burst upon our bedroom wall.

Old friends standing on the roof,
silken silhouettes
laughing about who lost how much nerve when it came to lighting big bombs.

The sudden blast of a hydrogen bomb is a primal kick in
the gut,
a slap of surprised sound that silences all speech.