D.A.R.E. kids with white
dandelions, moving out of
the street for the
Shriner Go-Karts,
cops on horses,
egotistical firetrucks,
sad-faced drivers.

Flags wave like limp
wrists. Someone's always
afraid of clowns.

And the sun fucks the street.
The sun fucks us all, really.

Tonight there'll be fireworks,
rent-a-cops, stun guns,
booze in backpacks
and putrid pipes in pockets:
cigarettes illuminating
dim-bulb faces in
orange half-glow.

When in the course of human events ...
these events,
burgeoning and rippling and circling
like fireworks over the water,
dealers on the phone,
dead dogs at my side:
with a firm reliance on the protection
of Divine Providence,
I know I'm devoid of
sacred honor.