POETRY: Jeri Thompson – Channeling My Inner Boy-child

Channeling My Inner Boy-child

Annually, my neighbor and I
get together to watch the Fourth of July fireworks
from her 8th floor, east facing apartment. It’s a
full view from the LBC to Saddleback Mountain.
We ooh and ahh at colorful explosions
from the Queen Mary, Veteran’s Stadium,
Huntington Beach Pier, and on a clear night
(aren’t they all?), Disneyland.

Two glasses of wine and one really good pre-roll later
comes the Queen’s happy ending. The neighborhood
begins its own sizzle and boom. Mere feet away,
a Green Fountain explodes into evanescent sparks.
Startled, my neighbor said,
“That was so close I can smell it.”
While I guffawed for a rude amount of time, she stared.
I couldn’t speak the words, “You don’t smell a
Green Fountain, it was my bean burrito from lunch.”

When I finally caught my breath and admitted my faux pas,
my inner boy-child and I agreed that some things are best left unsaid.

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