Holy Fire

This year, Anna Chegwith
Took hold of organising
Lower Banford’s Guy Fawkes Night
Beyond the boundary
Opposite the oak tree
Far from the pavilion

Anna, Catholic on a Sunday,
Firefighter by Monday,
Had two loves: order and disorder
White-shirt-buttons-neat-Chegwith
And anarchic-Anna, depatterned,
Chaotic, randomly romantic, Anna

Committee-meeting-Chegwith reigned
Precise distances to the rope
Fire station - informed
Weather reports - updated
Decision timelines – strict
Traffic lights on amber

At home, Anna put the word out:
Invite the blind, the deaf, the crippled
The autistic, anosmians, dysgeusians
And ‘Primary children to bring wood’
Written on a to do list, sat on the loo
Flushed before Chegwith could find it

The parents set to compete as ever

Anna subverting Ghegwith
Chegwith suppressing Anna

November the 5th arrives
Dusk is gathering, damp air cooling
A rope is in place, a matrix of fireworks
50 yards downwind from the pyre
Its wigwam of standard tree trunks
Chegwith’s firm foundation

Pressed into the ground by odd offerings
Old tables, bookcases, broken rocking horses
Uprooted trees, an old brown piano
Rising to meet the stars, trembling and creaking.
The crowd now hushed,
Waiting for Anna to kneel, and

Lit taper in hand to ignite the bonfire
A wild conflagration feeds the night sky
Tasted in the air, its roar heard,
The heat so real it could be held
Red raging flames compensating
The disabled, first behind the rope

Guy Fawkes Night, an enhancer, for all ages
Battling with burgers and dripping ketchup.
Yes, it had a guy, a nod to Parliament
And on Sunday Anna Chegwith,
Smelling sweet from the smoke, still,
Knelt again, as we all do before holy fire