On Saturday

Someone sets fireworks off down the street.
The bangs quicken until they culminate in sync
and all the lights go out.
All the lights go out.
The electrical hum has left me sitting awkwardly with Silence.
I like to think this is like dying,
like letting go of everything that mattered.

Shot through the wall.
Sirens down the street.
I guess they weren’t fireworks.
I can’t hear anyone celebrating.
All my lights go out,
and I think, this must be dying.
This must be.