A Celebration of Bats

We gather at a lake where fireworks shower
this Fourth of July. Over cheeseburgers,
the plum sunset ferments into night wine.
Coarse grass scuffs my skin,
cigarette smoke lingers in my lungs.
Mosquitos stalk my flesh,
my blood, their sweet bourbon.

Roses blossom from seeds of sharp sound.
Neon candy, fish tank pebbles,
fall from the sky. The horizon
is a procession of canvasses splattered by paint.
A bebop of bright embers
buzz, zap, zing and crackle
as girls twirl with sparklers.
This feast of light and sound dazzles,
yet fades and fizzles, too fleeting for memory.

Suddenly, like a whirlwind of leaves,
bats rush from trees,
shaken into insanity by human thunder.
Their dark felt wings chant beauty
through the smog of perished fireworks.