The Fag Packet Fire

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

So there we were
In the early hours
Warming ourselves
On the flames from a fag packet

Or trying to
And every so often
Spoonie raised his head
And hollered, ‘Wonga!!’

‘Where’s my jacket?!!’
He was shivering
And shaking
I was okay, my head was baking

Little Johnny was there
And we huddled together
Thinking maybe
We could weather this 

It didn’t do much good
‘Wonga!?!’ Was the cry
‘I’m fuckin freezin
I need my jacket!!’

Then, in a purple haze
Spoonie caught fire
Flames shooting from his back
I leapt up and jumped

And rolled him on the grass
‘Fuck off Szpuky!!
What you doin!?
Leave me alone!’

I tried to explain
‘You were on fire,
I had to put the flames out’
‘Fuck off!’ came back at me

‘Wonga!!’ The cry came again
Even more desperate
And then . . .
He caught fire once more!

I leapt through the night
Like Bruce Willis
And rolled him on the grass
A second time

He wasn’t too happy
‘Fuck off Szpuky!!’
I tried to explain
‘I had to put the flames out . . .’

Then it dawned on me 
Before the dawn came
That it was psychedelic
 I’d kissed the sky