Fireworks

The explosion is rattling old windowpanes and the dog will not leave the corner. 

Relentless, like I imagine a battlefield to be the bursts of light cut into what could have been a sky preparing itself for stars. Present position is crouched, shirtless and still feeling the thinnest coating of sweat from the hill. At the keyboard but face continuing to be drawn to the window where I can see the fireworks quite well, all things considered. I'm still trying to justify walking away from you.

There's a U-Haul truck parked outside my door. Somebody's moving on.

The dog and I walked the deadliest hill in town to get a more remote glimpse of the show. I'm early to everything, and the sun was still blowing kisses to the horizon from below. I stopped at the stone wall outside your college apartment and you slid out in flip flops to check the skyline too. The dog wanted to jump on your face; I could tell you missed having a pet. You smelled freshly smoked. We spoke about California and dogs. The fireworks teased us with some low fliers, out of view. I said "Well it was really nice talking to you" at the first sign of awkwardness and absconded. 

If I had stayed, we would have confirmed that you were an undergraduate student at the university, probably studying economics or public health- whatever- and that I work full time. You like Ithaca and don't really miss the west coast. We both play guitar, how funny. We talk about literature and you confess you never have time to read for fun anymore and I assure you it gets better. I would study your profile a little more in depth. You light a cigarette. The fireworks start with an echo that has built the sound to a cannonball blast from the lakeside. The dog starts panting, but sits well. We watch in silence for some time, maybe for the duration. After its over maybe we would finally offer our names. Run into you soon on the hill. Who knows. We all learn something from one another. 

But I tapped out. Watched the fireworks begin as I rounded the block to my apartment. You smoke anyway, and that just wouldn't do. 

We were right about the dog. 

This is what they call the grand finale. I'm going to bed.