Explosions in the Street

by Kevin Ridgeway

the smoke has no time

to clear before another flash
screams into the night
blinding everyone in its
deafening path

it’s Independence Day

here in Southern California
and the smell of barbecued
meat has given way
to the smell of gun powder

things that disturbed me

when I was younger,
things I questioned
as jingoistic, stupid
and repellent

are engulfed in fire

as I light my cigar
and use it to ignite
a small display of
bombs bursting
in the gutter

I realize I have softened

I love blowing things up
I like gnawing on ribs
to form a greasy
mustache over
my lips

here in mini-Baghdad,

where the big pops
grow enormous
as the night
becomes older--

I’d like to see the looks

on my quieter neighbors’
faces as I chew simultaneously
on said rib and smoke said cigar
and light the fuse of
a flattened Christmas
package that turns
into a nightmare of
flashes, twirls and fury

preparing for the

apocalypse is the
American Way

and it should be done

in garish style