Last Night

Somebody somewhere was setting off fireworks. I could hear them through the open screen door and wondered what exactly was being celebrated on the sixteenth of June. Perhaps it was only thunder? It definitely rumbled.

It stopped soon thereafter. Maybe it was a fire and my ears just wanted to hear glory instead of terror. I walked around the block to make sure I wouldn't perish foolishly in my sleep. "But she knew!" they'd say, "And she didn't leave the apartment!" Tragic, I know. My block seemed safe. The pouty sky hung overhead, a few persistant stars were visible if you squinted at just the right moment. And the campanile, the armory, guarded the end of the street, the stone statue of some soldier from some war frozen in front of it. That statue of a soldier, that shadow with a gun.