A Most Unpopular Opinion

Sirens wail from every direction.
The scent of gunpowder brushes my nostrils. 
Blazing luminescence—
     a strobing crescendo on the horizon. 
Canines cower, burrowing into cushions or caretakers
     fleeing the explosive clamor. 

Heaps of paper and plastic,
     give bloated shape to bins lining the streets. 
Plates, forks, knives—
     cheaply made and cheaply used. 
Beer cans roll and rattle, a chime in the breeze. 

Waste. 
Self-induced wildfire.
Auditory assault. 
A neurodivergent's worst nightmare. 

Remnants of a hollow holiday,
a nation’s pastime:
what goes down
with a flash
and a bang.