The Longest Night
He sank back against the bed;
his fingers dug deep into his palms
stifling the panic tearing through
the time worn lines that wound their way
across his parchment skin.
The barred windows proved no defense:
now a staccato burst ripped the curtains apart
and now, a hollow boom sent tremors
through the panes; squeals of laughter,
yells of mock terror seeped in
through the grille with the metallic tang
of gunpowder.
A sudden screech, like a spear,
cut through the ebony armor
of the autumn night, before cresting
its parabolic flight with a blast
sending shrapnel sparks far and wide
burning holes into the cozy darkness
canopying his bed.
He switched the light on,
and hobbled over to the window
Electric stars, stretched on a wire, winked
at him from every apartment block;
some kids were aiming a rocket
at an abandoned flat; a father looked on
as his son whooped and leaped
through walls of thick smoke;
in a corner, a toddler waved
a sparkler grinning foolishly
from his mother's lap,
wailing every time
a cracker went off nearby.
He sighed, pulled a chair up,
put his reading glasses on
and prepared to wait the night out.
