All the sparks fly tonight.

Her sister's friend
looks hotter than ever.
His cousin’s buddy
has a smokin' body.

Fireflies jig
against the courthouse hedge,
and the Rotarians' rusty barbecue flares,
then glows under the last
healthy elm.

No matter that the village band’s
chaste standards thump on
from the gazebo;
when the first warning rocket rises,
and lawn chairs pop

open, and the last bats unruffle
and scatter toward the darkening river,

their faces will all upturn,
waiting for the first bright kiss.

 

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