Now it is mid-July and still
the plinks against the windows.
Sometimes a single impact,
the tap of a finger, click
of the safety disengaging.
Perhaps a small wave of them,
the patter of a sudden evening
storm. Or the rat-a-tat of several
at once mingling with the leftover
fireworks, as illegal as they are tardy.
We turn up the sitcom to muffle
so much noise.
The next day, the porch is littered
with them. Brown bodies
curled against the injustice
of sudden death. We are careful
to step over them
as we start our days,
waiting for the wind
to blow them away.
Ruth Kogen Goodwin is a writer and editor. She lives in Southern California with her husband and their daughter. She earned her MFA from American University.