letter to a worried friend

The Fourth of July, it's come and it's gone
and the only thing that has scorched your lawn
is the glare of the sun that starts after dawn
and moves through the day with its fiery brawn.

Your house is still standing, not burned to the ground
from rocket displays amidst the great sound
that rose from the darkness and burst all around
to delight all the children and scare the odd hound.

But i was ready and willing to toss in the ashes
an old A.C. unit between burnt window sashes
and handrail lumber that in the end only clashes
with rough cedar posts not burned down with matches.

And so on this day, the fifth of july,

let your mind be at peace and cast no nervous eye
to the South where your house didn't fry.