Fire Pit

By Andrew R. Duckworth

Photo and editing by Andrew R. Duckworth
I smell like a bonfire,
Or a beer,
Or a beer and a bonfire.
Just minutes around the fire pit
With a cold, glass bottle
Or a cold, metal can,
And I smell like ashes.

Round the fire we gather,
Like we were back at twenty-one.
But those days are over
And there’s work to be done.
But, just for a night,
With the smoke, embers, and moonlight,
We can cling our bottles or glasses
And smell like ashes.

Back then it was a bonfire,
And we were rowdy once,
Not even men, just boys,
Barely stepping into our voice,
Talking nonsense into the rising smoke,
And give the embers a poke,
Keeping that fire alive,
And smelling like ashes
Or beer,
Or beer and ashes.

Now, we reflect,
And our duties we neglect,
Just for a night,
As we embrace the moonlight,
And embrace the smell of bonfire,
Or a beer,
Or a beer and a bonfire.

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