The Fourth of July

This morning, as steam escaped then plumed
from the kettle’s mouth, the day’s first airlift flew
overhead with its woeful thwap and thrum.
Inside it is some frail lady who, overcome
by potato salad, people, and heat, succumbed
to stroke, or a man who, tinkering with the pontoon
of his boat back by the engine, lulled by fumes,
slipped quietly beneath the green surface
for five full minutes before his absence was
noted, or else a kid whose fingers turned
to streamers and confetti after he lit and burned
a quick, wonky fuse. We hear the wail, see the flickering
red flare of the van now parked two streets away, musing
on the sacrifice of these who give their lives on this day.
At noon the shadows turn, go the other way.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s