My 4th In July

When those pops go off, my cat rushes away

Towards the only corner of safety, I think I know

In that instant of explosion, of beer-fueled fun

Factors comprised of festive jingoism and commercial

Nationalism froth from drunk denizens and celebratory

Lynch mobbers in that frenzy, that frenzy that seeps out

Of the festering sores ripped open with each exertion

Each overreach as those pops fire off, and explodes mists

Sparkling with cherry ice-pop tones dancing with blues

But, mostly white, as the noises go louder and the corner

Gets smaller until the air chokes breathing passages no

Longer capable of free movement of air and the choice

To live can’t be clearly made because that smoke, those

Lights block and blind the senses until there’s only one thing

Left for a scared, shelter animal to do, and she runs, she scatters

And flees from the corner I thought would be safe for her but

She is left with no choice but to rush headlong into the night

Across still busy streets until flickering blues, reds, and whites.