Strike Anywhere. I found the box right where it always was. Inside were some nasty roaches. I tried one. Grandma died a month ago. When that hit of old tobacco and kitchen match hit my mouth I remembered Grandma at the burn barrel, sending us for things to burn while she barely hid smoking her rollies. Everything went in that barrel so the day's taint was always different. Sometimes trashy, sometimes exotic, spicy. When we stayed at Grandma's in the summer she would give us two of the Strike Anywhere matches from, I assume, that very same box. We got two matches to go start the burn barrel. We had about a half hour before Grandma would come up to play with fire. There were rules to bend. There were few flaming stick battles that Grandma did not either see or knew was happening, somehow. She always arrived at just about the right time. Playing with fire is a necessary life skill. So my poem for the day is:

Burn Barrel
Barrel Bomb
Carry On