The fireworks barge
still as the river's current, but
smoke flows all around.
Crowds all stare, clap, grin, and cheer,
except one boy, who just coughs.
Ten thousand nudists
riding bikes on the East side,
flapping in the wind:
I wonder if the bike rental
cleans the seats between uses.
Greasy, sticky sweat
makes ash and dirt stick to my
hairy, matted arms.
I raise my cross-peen hammer, and
clang down on the glowing steel.