Conflagration by Emily Hasler

You’ve got to be pretty cold or pretty sure
you want rid of something to burn it. To light
the match that becomes a flame that takes
as much as you can give it. And yet, in towns
everywhere, on Sundays when some get round,
finally, to hoovering out the car, or weeding,
or reading that novel, some, many, at least one
will have a bonfire. And some will walk out
in to town, to pick up something for tea,
and will know, someone is having a bonfire;
there’s that smell, infer the smoke, the blaze.
Later, back home, you’re implicated; your hair, your clothes.