After The Fourth

It's quiet now,
Warm and still,
The orange glow of streetlight
fogged by lingering firework smoke,
the smell of gunpowder and forest
mixed with fertile earth and night.

A small form humps
low across the road
as I slow down
to turn into my driveway;
A raccoon in search
of food and safety
when the sun comes up
hours from now.

The celebrations are all done
but for distant crackling
of die-hard celebrants
still setting off their fireworks;
the parades have all gone by,
the barbeques have cooled,
and children filled with food
lie sleeping
snug in bed

And as I linger on the steps
that lead up to my door
where moon-flowers bright and pale
climb up the gables
of my sleeping home
I have a sudden thought
for people in an ancient city
far across the curve of world,
people risen up against
a growing threat of
intolerance and limitation
and I wonder
as I look around
my world,
why should they
not share in this?