Revisionist Poetry – Out of Sight, Out of Mind?, v.4 – ironical

The flames rise, take their bows behind the drapes.
We throw them paper hopes — polite, confetti-thin.

Sadness chews politely, no need to hurry;
happiness is filling out an application form.

Wood becomes coal, coal updates its résumé,
ash sends holiday postcards to the future.

Expectations show up in party hats and maps,
joy slips out for a smoke and misses the show.

Flames practise vanishing — now you see them,
now you don’t — the breeze is their favorite trick.

Old grief keeps the souvenirs on a low shelf,
labelled “DO NOT RETURN” in neat, affectionate ink.

Out of sight? Certainly. Out of mind?
Only until someone opens the wrong drawer.