Poem: "Burned on the Fourth of July"

© 2001 by Andersen Silva

Crafty Sol,
     hiding behind masses of cloud
     but emitting his rays nonetheless.
The angry red triangle
     near the base of my spine
     is nothing to the expanses of pink
That soon cover my face, my arms, my legs,
     and my unoffending back. A quintet of dolphins giggles.

Radiating skin,
     hot to the touch,
     cold shower droplets should almost steam upon contact;
But I survive,
     and hit the boardwalk, only to be rained upon,
     and, back inside, fail to see fireworks.
Another June has gone by,
     But, somehow, here still am I...