You bend down with your lighter.
I fake laughter as we tug-of-war,
trying to pull you back
from the brink you cannot see.
Then, your toes ignite
and flames flash past your instep,
heel, and round your ankle,
green-sparking fireworks leaping higher,
real and greedy
then gone. A smell of sulphur.
You're smiling, reaching for the other foot,
a teasing schoolboy.
I see defiance, an unrepentent martyr
about to vanish in the smoke.
July 2002
