Resolution #9

A cascade of sparks
exploding in the blackness
of a revellers sky
like bright tears.

Crying for the homeless
sat where the light
doesn’t fall,
under archways,
behind garages,
in cardboard boxes.

Damp and cold
while a flaming wheel
greets the crescent moon
as it circles.
A metaphor
of the turning year.

Out with the old and needy,
in with the bright young things
with their Starbucks cups
of steaming coffee -
their scorching bonuses.

Tonight
they guzzle cheep fizz
and look out
of their expensive towers
at a London midnight
ablaze with wealth
and drunken celebration.

The explosive end
to another year
going up in smoke.

Stuffing their rockets
with crisp fivers,
their Cherry Bombs
with crumpled tenners.

Letting it all
burn, burn, burn,
as though the money
couldn’t buy someone
a good meal
or a roof over their head.
for just a little while -
rather than scorching
to the sad refrain
of ‘Auld Lang Syne’.

Should old acquaintance
ever be forgot…….