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Saratoga: Fourth of July
To the man carrying the newborn in two hands, like an
offering,
To the ten-year-old busker with skinny legs and too-big
guitar,
To the gay couple at the hot sauce store gauging the heat
index,
Happy Fourth!
To the man in black loafers, no socks and gold chain,
To the slim-faced girl in her spotless smock at the cheese
shop,
To the panting pug on his leash and his obedient follower,
Happy Fourth!
To the iced-coffee-carrying ingénue in fishnets and shorts,
To the pierced pedant in black with his dog-earred Ulysses (why today?),
To the seller of gelato belting out Verdi and scooping
stracciatella,
Happy Fourth!
To the little girl who cries as her pink balloon floats
skyward and away,
And to the little boy who says, “Hey, Dad, look!” and “Hey,
Dad, look!”
To the moon-faced toddler in her stroller, beaming and
effulgent,
Happy Fourth!
To the carousel horses on their appointed rounds,
To the waterspout fountain gods, Spit and Spat,
To the antique cars, buffed and shiny, lining the park,
Happy Fourth!
Before the rain comes, which it will,
Before the sun sets, which it will,
Before the last shop closes and the lights go out,
Happy Fourth,
Tarry on,
Happy Fourth.
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