Fireflies

He remembers
Remembers roller skates that clamped on
the key turned so tight, shoe toes curled
flying down cement sidewalks, wings spread
skinned knees and elbows, breathless
On fire with being seven years old

Remembers the smell of summer-hot tar
Pressing pennies and fingers
fascinated at this early form of publishing
Fireflies chased before the Silent Spring
caught in eager hands, stuffed in Mason jars
Magic in glass, spilled out and made free before bed

Remembers the first leather jacket, pleaded for
Expensive
His family wasn't poor, but these were war years
Saving bacon fat, tin cans, rationing and Victory Gardens
The jacket pulled off and left, its very first day
Nine bucks, and fifty years later he still remembers

Remembers flags hung in neighbors windows by gold cord
A blue star for each son at war and some had several
Lost or missing, the blue stars turned to gold
Windows passed quietly, whispered and cried over
with nine year old tears, while playing at war
and watching neighbor's parents, quickly grown old

Fifty years later and a maintenance crew patching streets
half a world away, the sudden smell of hot tar and memories
of skinned knees, pressed fingers and fireflies
Slammed screen doors, the stars turned blue to gold
Nine dollar jackets and sons of neighbors lost
The breaking wave of a lifetime, remembered in a smell