David Knake

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Fourth

The wind, blowing through my hair.
The sand, seeping through the cracks in my toes.
The smell of burgers, wafting through the air.
The screeching of children, piercing my eardrums.
Smoke, flying through the air.
Covering my eyes like a shroud of darkness.
The smack of volleyballs.
Slapping into peoples arms.
The sun, setting into blackness,
Falling through the orange sky.
The chewy goodness of s’mores,
Settling on my tongue.
The crowd, settling into a low roar.
The first bang, followed by a burst of color.
The fourth is such a wonderful time.

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