In my youth I once stood in front of a trash can full of fireworks, playing a kind of game. The point was to see who stood their ground the longest after the can had been set aflame. No one had ever warned us, not of all these problems youth endemic.
Honestly, how could they, this particular situation was incredibly specific.
The tanks were the first to go, harmless, but admittedly still jarring.
It was thrilling, but I knew the odds were good I’d end the night in the hospital crying.
Then a pop and a bang, a spark flew past my head.
I was not yet aware of how close I’d come to being dead.
After we came back from our places of hiding, I finally saw what had flown by me in a manner so blinding.
We hadn’t emptied the can before lighting, a poor decision. And it had been the contents in the bottom that superheated and took flight on a course for collision.
It was only then that we realized where we had gotten the can. It was near that store my mom always avoided driving by in her van.
So there, behind where I stood, fused to the tree,
Was the flying dildo that almost killed me.