July 4

There is a haze and it feels like a ghost town
with empty streets and the merest hint of trickles of cars escaping the net of your holiday weekend
with trips and stops and hours in the car
all the people glow in the early light and the faint echoes of their footsteps meld with church bells at a distance
bouncing off of brick roads and houses
This is nine a.m.
Fourth of July Weekend
Sunday
and as the bells end their knell
Sirens pick up,
somewhere further in the city