Street Scene

By Gary Lechliter

A man sweeps dust from his driveway

as his son watches from the curbstone.

Along with confetti the man sweeps orts of last night’s fireworks.

His young son stands with hands in pockets, head down, disappointed;

like some kids feel the day after Christmas.

Beside the shards of dust and sparklers,

the man sweeps dregs of roman candles and assorted fountains:

hard earned money gone up in smoke.

The son shakes his head and stares down at scraps of paper, spent matches, punks,

fuses, whiz bangs; a collage of gunpowder burned on the bricks.