Bonfire babysitter

I am five and you are 2,000 years old,
a firework of beige whistling
through the front door.
You light a fuse on the sofa next to me,
a Catherine wheel of chatter
spinning stories I don’t understand.
Your teeth are sparklers shining
to every out of date reference.
My toffee apple eyes melt
beside your ancient warmth
and crackle to dreams
of a darker-haired you
telling tales to half my foundations.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

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