Don't the neighbors know
premature firecrackers read
like a mistake? Midnight fireworks
sound like a firing squad alone in
my bed, and for a brief moment
I can't distinguish the two.
By morning drugstores have cleared red and green lights
that once invaded late October aisles and afterwards,
like it never happened
all to make room for pink plastic and foil wrapped hearts;
On my street, a Christmas inflatable Mickey Mouse lies
deflated in one of the yards like a disappointment or
a discarded lover.
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