Independence Day

Steeped in porch light
you rock on the hanging bench
with a cigarette dangling
from your lips,
now your fingertips,
your skin barely separating you
from the night.
Your eyes are at half mast
and it's warm, yes
it's warm.
The weight of need,
of an unreturned phone call,
of tonight's particular flavor of desire
and loneliness,
percolates in your heart,
spreading heavy through your blood.
In the distance a siren sounds,
reminding you you're not the only one
alive or dying.
It's Independence Day,
but you depend, oh you depend
on simple kindnesses,
on a hand to hold,
on someone to lift your chin.
The fireworks keep popping distantly,
singly:
shouted questions getting no reply.