#594 the smell of sulphur

dry grass and pine needles
small twigs
bigger twigs (all dry)
and the magic ingredient, birch bark

alone in the woods
out of parents' sight
i dig the matchbook from my pocket
read its grocery store slogan, where community lives

i tug out a single match
strike it, below my nose
savour the burning smell of sulphur
then, birch bark crackles my excitement out loud

then the grass and needles
the twigs, big and small

and i stare at the jar of gasoline
stolen from the shed

you can label me arsonist
but i don't trust people who say they never played with fire
the difference between us
is i slipped, i got caught