What radicals you are blowing up in suburban streets.
Startling the solemn households from their quiet Sunday
breathing, lighting up thousands of tiny troops of Civil War.
Anarchy! Streets run amok!
In flocks you burst and scream, a chorus of crazed baby
chicks being strangled, a thousand wild light bulbs sent up
into the air fusing,
bouquets of flowers, flying out
like burning feathers.
You fizz and whistle like sparks of fat.
Breaking the rude silence of safe
towns, reminding us of a war
the corner, or
to shut the curtains, lock the door, and always
blow out candles.