You make me madder than anyone.
I sometimes think you do it on purpose,
but then, when I’m mad like now,
I think you’re too dumb to know
what you’re doing.

Things will be going well,
and you’ll say something thoughtless
or selfish
or just plain stupid,
and I’ll wonder for a second
if you’re messing with me,
take a sidelong glance at your face,
and realize you mean it.

And it’s like all the rockets of
Guy Fawkes Day,fireworks
New Years Eve,
The Fourth of July,
and the closing credits of
“Love American Style”
are all going off at once
in my brain.

And I want to strangle you,
or worse,
and you see the glint in my eye
and retreat, and what makes it still worse
is you know you’ve done something,
but you don’t know what it is.
And sometimes you try to guess,
and you’re wrong.

So I (and my fireworks), we go off together
to another room
or to the library or mall or somewhere
away from you
until we are calm.

And when I come back, red_heart_in_hands_212333
you have a smile for me
or a warm embrace
that somehow makes it better.

All’s quiet on the eastern front.



Prompt from Robert Lee Brewer’s Poetic Asides prompt – Front


3 thoughts on “Fireworks

  1. A great poem with many different moods. Very well done and fun to read – Love, American Style- I saw one recently and they haven’t aged well, but then again, neither have I. 🙂

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