It’s his first 4th of July alone. Sovereign sky mimics frenzied fireflies playing tag:
blazing trails that zigzag over family cookouts. He orders out too much these
days. And his twin bed is bigger. Colder. Tonight he makes shadow puppets on
the closet door. They bounce to beats of intermittent booms, under patriotic
strobe light sneaking through mini-blinds he bought on clearance from Target.
Heat makes us all crazy. The ceiling fan looks like an overgrown Black Widow
who has just devoured her mate—cackling at the concept of visitation rights,
and alternating holidays.
(published at Underground Voices Magazine)