Fire Works

Colors and noise
Fill the sky
In a grand display of human ingenuity

Reds and greens morph into blues.
Explosions, as the ashes precursor
Loss their struggle with gravity.

Car horns join the celebration
As the vibrations call them to life.
I smile, recalling other light shows
Some from a Brooklyn roof top.

Looking to’rd Coney Island
I recall sharing the spectacle
With a dozen neighbors.
Our Saturday night special.

Kids drank cokes, adult’s beer.
I do not scream now,
But it was so-o-o exciting then,
And there were others
Who shared my joy.

Marty, Morty, Harvey, Bert & Herbie,
Boys of 2134 Homecrest Ave.
Die hard, very hard Dodger fans,
United Saturday nights,
June through Labor day.
Watching the roof-top show.

In June we were awestruck,
Mesmerized by the spectacle,
Before August ended we were “mavens”,
Semi-professional fire works critics.

“I don’t know, Marty?”, said Bert,
I’m thinkin da last 4 reds didn’t spread so much,
And the finale, Christ, it was maybe 15 seconds!”

It couldn’t have been all that sweet,
I wouldn’t allow for that.
But damn I feel so-o-o good.