“and the rockets’ red glare”
had lost some of its luster
over the years.

Once they were the high point
of family outings.

He would run around
the local park
with his siblings
chasing fireflies
until the first loud boom
signaled
it was time to settle down
on the itchy old wool
army surplus blanket
they always sat on
at family events.

Once they punctuated
adolescent dreams of romance.

He would stroll around
the town fair grounds
with his friends
chasing girls
or more accurately
talking about who they liked
who they wished
they could talk to
maybe put an arm around
or even kiss.
Standing as close
as possible
to the fireworks
and the girl he had his eye on,
he would feel each explosion
in his gut, in his heart.

Once they were big extravaganzas
during his early career.

He would dance around
the city park
with his coworkers
enjoying the day off,
the music,
the street food,
and the spectacular show
which signaled
the great opportunities
ahead.

Once they were obligations
he would take his young kids to.

He would push the stroller
to the country club
with his family.
Dolling out crackers
and juice,
he would make sure
the kids stayed close
stayed safe
and had comforting arms
if the explosions were
too loud.

Now,
he sat at home,
thinking about the nephew
who lost his legs
in his second tour.
He thought about a friend’s
son
who suffered
visions of Fallujah
when he heard
the distant explosions.
He patted his dog
cowering on the couch
with each burst
and waited
for the long night
to be over.