At night on July 3rd, we drive home- the hum of the tires, the chit-chattering of children in their seats, the soap-colored clouds. As we by-pass the stop signs of towns like Bucyrus, Crestline and Upper Sandusky, we see fireworks shimmer into the sky from front yards and high school football fields. One of the few days of the year when the sun doesn’t set fast enough. Children on front porches wait anxiously for dad to strike the match, hold it steady to the fuse and watch the streak into the darkness. From the road, we also see the comet’s tail shiver upward- a pleasant distraction.
The second poem that I have written.