Fireworks

Things are different now

in this decrepit little house

wedged between a chop shop and a promiscuous alley

There are no familiar smells of home

only the stench of filth and decay

The bars on the windows, 

remind me I can no longer be naive about the world

The tall cement walls 

make me feel more like a prisoner than an inhabitant 

And yet I am content 

to curl up in a chair and stare out the window 

past the dirt stained screen and the power lines 

over the wall and up at the night sky

The sky is my muse

allowing for endless possibility 

I wanted nothing more than to watch the fireworks

Not from a fancy place

or a crowded park among strangers, 

Sitting on the roof would have sufficed

sipping cheap wine out of a paper cup 

and feeling like it was just you and I

Rooftop rebels

You missed them all

the white ones 

that start in a screech and end in a flash

The purple and red 

that make no noise at all then suddenly appear before your eyes

like a  burlesque  dancer 

revealing just enough to keep you interested

The green ones that fizz out slowly 

and the blue ones that circle, leaving a dusty trail

The ones that glitter like stars

And the finale that makes you sit on the edge of your seat

A fantastic array of light

each one more beautiful than the next, 

as if to outdo one another

The sky goes dark 

No longer filled with popping lights

or distant crackles and booms

I sit in silence

With no one to lean on

Or smell the dab of perfume 

I placed on the back of my neck

The end of a miraculous show

And I have never felt so lonely