Story, not a poem, YET
One afternoon, my brother, my dad and I,
were bored a day in July.
Sitting in our chairs as the fan was on high,
While the sun slowly setting.
We glanced at a random box on the shelf,
gave eachother a look with approval.
I snatched a knife from the counter for the tape’s removal and got started.

I darted to get fuses,
Yet a part of me refuses.
the signs of caution starts to get me worried.
We tied each fuse together until they were one.
Now, the mistakes just begun.
We lit the fuse with a spark,
Creating a snake of flame.
The second the flame hit the paper wrapping,
I knew I should start running.

I sprinted into the garage as the sound of boom and bangs blasted behind me,
The warm lights crackled and flashed
While my legs felt numb
My brother doing the the same but on the next degree.
Fear started to overwhelm me,
But then my brother pulled out a fire extinguisher
Trying to clear out this disaster.

With determination, cleaning, taking out the beast
All was left ash and small flames.
But the main fire was out at the very least.
That afternoon ended with lots of laughter
Except for me.
My heart was pounding rapidly after what just happened.
“Let’s head inside, it's getting dark out” my dad said with a chuckle.
I replied silently with frighted expression, “okay…”
I thought my voice was lost from the after shock,
feeling like my throat was filled with powdered chalk.
I limped to the door as I could barely walk.
The past event went by so fast it felt like a blur.
My memory felt erased.
We continued the day as if nothing happened
Looking back at this day still fills me with guilt

Yet, damage had already been done.
If this was a story worth learning from,
NEVER mix fireworks….
Unless you’re dumb…