A lousy thing to have every
fourth of July, this silly sensitivity
to loud, unexpected noise,

especially fireworks/crackers/
ridiculously booming boom-booms
or the simple sound of a popping

balloon, and yes, earplugs can
help a bit, but they don’t stop
the heartleap and the startled

jump. Like the dogs, I prefer
to shelter inside as folks
celebrate independence,

though I will venture out
the morning of the fourth
being with us to take up

the long hose with power
nozzle to wet down the wilted.
And even if a piccolo pete

screams in the too-early
part of the day, I will remind
myself to breathe, tell my

galloping heart that it’s safe,
it can slow down, everything’s
gonna be OK, and Ooo! Cool

water on the flip-flopped feet!
Roses and gardenias basking
happily in the turned-up oven

of this valley summer, like me,
a July baby relishing the fact
that, after a long winter,

my toes are truly warm,
wiggling under hose-shower,
and oh, look! winking pink toes,

which make the old heart
smile, ease up a tad and
issue a teeny yahoo!

for our red, white and blue.