Fireworks

Sometimes, I feel like cheap Chinese fireworks.
The dead promise packed in an easily lost wrapper.
Designed to take a small flame and explode as hope against a dimming timeline of family.
Twine not quite wound tightly, the payload just slightly left of center and the circuit isn't complete.
I look around for an explanation and find the fingers pointing to me.
Someone should have said something.
Someone, right?
Someone should have warned me.
But cheap Chinese fireworks don't hold the attention span for long.
The next pack is opened, lit, and becomes imprinted on the sky until the sun arrives.
And I'm left picking up bits and pieces from the grass, alone.