A Bonfire to Remember

Let me tell you about the 1976 Bicentennial.

It was quite a bash,

at the Zachariah Field Tavern,

close by the Temperance League Fountain,

and Baptist Corner Road

in Ashfield, Mass.

To fuel our fun we acquired a log,

squat, hollow, and Maple,

hauled out of a ravine by “Big John.”

Did you know him?

He tossed boulders.

He battled beavers.

(We had one in our shower at the Tavern for a day,

leaning against the wall,

stiff as a board,

hiding from the law.)

So, we mounted the log on cinder blocks,

and filled it full of wood.

And as the sun went down,

we sang our songs.

And the fire was lit.

And the jug was passed.

And a sweet, smokey incense

filled the graveled parking lot

between the Tavern

and the home of the town constable.

Silence.

A stern presence in gray loomed above.

We bowed our heads,

and averted our gaze.

Then the uniformed vision was gone.

And the singing resumed.

And the jug returned.

We had survived.

Then all at once,

that year’s fireworks we lost

burst from the top of our cannon.

(Later that evening we played volleyball by the light of outdated police flairs.)

Charles Davis

O’Brien, Oregon, formerly of Ashfield