buttered blisters

the children
run screaming through
the neighborhood
with burns
on their arms and legs.
roman candles
gone askew,
turned over
and shooting molten
flames on
everyone. sparklers,
the colors burned
out, now red hot
sticks to poke
one another.
and the parents
already full
and stewed from
a day of in
the sun drinking,
tired of spitting
watermelon
seeds into
the yard
and grilling, aren't
sure what to do.
so they grab the garden
hose, and water
them down,
butter up
the blisters
with butter that
sits nearby
in a melting tub.
it's the fourth
of july.