My party piece

My party piece:

I strike, then from the moment when the matchstick

conjures up its light, to when the brightness moves

beyond its means, and dies, I say the story

of my life –

dates and places, torches I carried,

a cast of names and faces, those

who showed me love, or came close,

the changes I made, the lessons I learnt –

then somehow still find time to stall and blush

before I’m bitten by the flame, and burnt.

A warning, though, to anyone nursing

an ounce of sadness, anyone alone:

don’t try this on your own; it’s dangerous,

madness.