Bonfire Makers

start young, with a kind of architecture:

their flammable one-room shanties

dot the demolition sites and crossroads, Dada

haystacks, invitations to lightning.

 

All night sharp faces keep their eyes peeled.

All day they go collecting door to door

the incendiary trash of the streets –

forklift pallets, truck tyres, furniture.

 

With their nose for what catches,

their instinct for ritual and sense of timing,

they gather it into the old charred circle,

its birthmark. Then burn it down.