In Columbia Tennessee
last night at a certain point
my mother-in-law’s
neighbors stopped launching
fireworks and just threw
them up in the air
by their tails.

Stuff we can't even buy back
home.  They exploded too low
and their front lot rose like
a freight elevator to stardome.
The neighbors said “Shit!”
and “god . . . damn!”

and drank more beer. In time
a Sebring curled and guttered
around the cul-de-sac.
They kept it on for
bass and lit and tossed
more fireworks and
cigarettes.

We were still in green lawn
chairs and weren’t exactly
applauding anymore.  Clods
of low embers were slowly
blowing over my
mother-in-law's rancher.

But there was something
in the trees' dark arms or the
women’s indistinct swank
or just the sinuous
cisatlantic smoke

That made me want to take our
kids and yellow sparklers
and say hello.

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Posted July 7, 2009.