Fireworks.

Fourth day of the seventh month
I celebrate with digital paint and mp3s
Too much sunlight running around after
The sun goes down, never
Felt the shot ring out
Too much rain that never falls
I heard it on the news
Sunshowers expected tomorrow

Nevertheless
The silence now is like rotten wood
And my mind is on another fourth
Or fifth, or eighth, or something
Spent too much time running from
A rain squall in a paper shack
Lifting habits off of young people
Dying of old age.