Fireworks

 I lived in an apartment in SF for a longer than I'd lived anywhere else in my life. On the Forth, the neighbors all met up on the roof. We could see the fireworks from both bridges and on a clear evening (not many of those in SF) we could see the fireworks across the Bay. Sometimes we drank beer or wine. Sometimes someone would bring a snack. It was nice. 

I remember the year I stopped enjoying it. It might have been the fourth after 9/11. The fireworks weren't just pretty abstract colors. They looked and felt like bombs. They weren't different. I was. I stopped going up to watch them. 

I've been alienated from my country since 1968. A bunch of people went to the Democratic convention in Chicago to make sure ending the war was on the platform. They got the shit kicked out of them by the Chicago police and a line was drawn.  

It's hard to feel good about the country. 

I like people getting together for hamburgers and hot dogs. I like small town parades. But I don't go to either. 

I do what I do.  

I read.