roman candle

you pour a little
jim beams into your
flesh wound, the burn
that runs along
your arm where
the roman candle
tilted and fell
shooting a hot spray
of melted goo
onto your skin.
then you find a
little kid in a white
t shirt, give him
a dollar and take
the it to bandage
your weeping wound
ahhh, you say.
okay, who wants
a hot dog. smells
like they are ready.
no, someone says,
that's your arm.
ten more minutes
on the dogs.