Backyard Fireworks

I know I’m supposed to hate them,

but the truth is that I don’t.

It’s after midnight now. Long after

The end of the official displays.

The boat’s been docked,

The small children sent off to bed,

When the neighbours over the fence out back

Commence to shoot off their private collection.

My mother complains about the noise,

Reasonably assumes I hate them, too.

The dog cowers in the bathroom till morning.

I used to, but it seems the bottle rockets

And cherry bombs that terrorized my childhood

Are out of fashion now. I’ve lived a year

In a city under siege and so

Something in my heart delights

In their lawless celebration.

There’s nothing to be done—

They’re just over the city line.

The cops won’t come.

So I sit out by the pool alone,

Bedtime reading and mug of tea,

Watch them light the sky in their private joy

With absolute impunity.

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Emily Paige Ballou is an old Millennial, Off-Broadway stage manager, hiker, and stationery junkie. She has work forthcoming in the Champagne Room and blogs at chavisory.wordpress.com.