Fourth of July

by Barry Dunlap
 

On the sweaty banks
of the Mississippi, I sat
beside a girl I dared
myself to date. We were
as far apart as the banks
of the river in front of us,
but our differences mended
as the first flare lit
the summer sky.
 
Rusty barges drifted slowly,
ready to launch missiles--
to mesmerize crowded banks.
Then, with thumps of thunder,
the sky filled with stardust:
shattered lanterns diving
into the placid river.
 
The colors exploded in blues
and reds, oranges, yellows and
greens; engaged a frenzy
in ageless eyes. Dying glares
grew into shapes: formed jellyfish,
sunflowers, seahorses of smoke.
 
After the last shot,
we stood, brushed the
dusty grass from our legs,
and slowly followed the crowd:
snailing away like the smoky
remnants of fireworks.