Before The Fourth

I stayed in
a prisoner of May’s
serious-ass sun
slow retreating
into the purple night’s
confusion

fireworks across town
rattled my silence
a police siren’s wail
cried out again

I drift towards the old McDonald’s
across from the court house
or was it Arthur Treacher’s Fish & Chips?
damn
I’d skip this confusion
but I’ve been locked-up
too long
never convicted
only judged

hush
listen
I-84 calls in the distance
mosquitoes buzz my ear
the grand finale has exploded —

and somewhere beyond the echoes
Mona Lisa digs the blues
her smile nothing
but a love poem read wrong

© chuck a stetson 2011