walking at night
toward the kilbarrack
train station. and no, it's not night
but it's evening, dark and dry
and cold at 6pm. dogs in all houses
going crazy with fireworks;
they start around now
and proceed into winter.
my coat is buttoned tightly. the ground crisp
and hard as unbroken eggshells.
all orange with lightbulbs
coming out of windows. another one
goes up from someone's house.
someone's garden. it goes,
exploding overhead in blue,
and the clatter afterward,
breaking on a street in daylight
when you're walking
and you're walking
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