In just a few lines, the poem compares a young queen named Claree to a roman candle, the firework that shoots out balls of colored fire. At first she is all energy: "screaming" and "spewing" bright colors everywhere. The slashes between the words make the line feel rushed, as if everything is happening at once and no one can slow it down.
Then the poem drops. She "falls like a pile of gray ashes / on 42nd street." The shift from bright colors to gray ash is sudden and bleak, and it suggests how quickly a flare of life and attention can end. The title, "Poem for Hustlers," points to a street world where people perform and survive in public.
The speaker doesn't lecture. The tone seems to mix admiration for the dazzling display with sadness at the collapse that follows. The mood is brief, vivid, and mournful, like a flash that leaves only a smell of smoke.