then overhead. Our cats sleep uneasy,
ears shifting quick at each explosion.
It's awfully cool for the 3rd of July,
I think, as a northwind blows across
sunset, into the front window.
My wife is in the next room.
Her fingers pound the computer
keyboard like a fistfight.
I think about the day we met,
more than a decade ago
to the day. We were children
going out for a movie and
some drinks. Perhaps, I will look back
in a dozen years or so
at your attacks on the machine,
audible for miles around,
and think the same thing.
We were children then,
I'll say, as I sat and listened to you
beat hell out of your laptop.
Another blast startles a cat.
I consider how much your typing
sounds like a lit brick of firecrackers.
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