fourth of july.
   i’ve counted
six thousand and twenty-six firecracker’s
boom!  already.
   boom!     boom!
got some drunken girl next door
running out naked every hour on the hour
firing off in indiscriminate directions
a thirty round clip from
an M2 submachine gun.
shit!          someone might
call the cops
exceptin’ her husband,
who’s the chief of police,
is laying out on the front lawn
passed out in uniform,
all vomited and pissed,
a burnt-out sparkler jutting
majestically from his mouth.
ka—boom!             a massive gunpowdered steel-nosed
acme rocket pierces aluminum-sided wall
and explodes in brilliant festivity in my living room.
i sit studiously considering the roman
of this mutant roman candle thinking
…somewhere tacitus turning in his grave.
but what the hell!      screw tacitus!
it’s the fourth!
the day when all good, patriotic
maniacs of America are proudly lunaticing
their minds in uproarious prankstering merriment
and deep dragon volcano booms!
singing all the while:
remember Lexington!        remember Concord!
remember to buy more beer!
hell, yes!     hell, yes!
and i, too, a maniac!
a real fucking yankee doodle maniac!
up now with sufficient wine
and out to the backyard
with assorted red, white, and blue cherry bombs,
mosaicing Old Glory in potent resplendence
my prize Ohioan humus rose garden.
then   ignite!      and:
earth and flower petals
in a grand simultaneous-exploding     jack—a—room!    delight.
o, joyous good American smoke and dust!
and i, then, dancing the earth with the drunken tears
of a flag-loving, fist-waving patriot, screaming:
jack—a—room!         jack—a—room!
may you ever boom!, America
long may you boom!