The wide-eyed, pig-tailed girl inhales deeply and smells the residue of old flame.
This week i am a used sparkler stick.
All the glitter and magic has fallen off, burned out.
I twist myself around but no matter what
configuration i convolute
my limbs into,
Musty and crusty, i fling myself onto the abyss of the gravel driveway.
Deciding to have a pity parade
i ignore the revelers dancing around me.
If i can't be majestic again, I have no reason to celebrate.
I will refuse to look into the heavens and marvel at the brilliance of others.
The girl, sticky-fingered from Superman ice cream, bends over and picks me up.
She clutches me like a wand or a scepter, spinning my darkened form in the air.
[you wont let me go]
She won't discard me because my luster has extinguished.
[I don't deserve to be held this tightly.]
This must be