Light a match. Watch the blue part
flare like a shocked piñata
from the beating
into the sky,
watch how fast thin
wood burns & turns toward the skin,
the olive-orange skin of your thumb
& let it burn, too.
Light a fire. Drown out the singing cats.
Let the drunken mariachis blaze their way,
streaking like crazed hyenas
over a brown hill, just underneath
a perfect birthday moon.