Eight-Forty Five,
sitting in a lawn chair
in the drizzle.
A lot of talk about
cancellation.

Hundreds
of crossed fingers,
the air is thick with mist
and muffled language.

Off goes the first bang,
behind us a kid
shouting out
play by play...

Two barrels,
rapid fire,
on and on.

I watch the spikes,
and hear the
thunder claps.

I imagine
I would see
just what I am
seeing
had I put
my finger in
a light socket.

The thin
spindles of light
reminding me of
road ****,
porcupine
for certain.

The night
draws to a close,
people pushing
and shoving
their way back
to their cars.

Labour day,
2014,
not that
we need an excuse
to have some fun.

Any night
of any day
will do just fine,
the ohs and awes
all over...
'till the next time.