July 3rd*

Inspired by, "Twas the Night Before Christmas."

Twas the day before the 4th when all through the streets

Not a child was sleeping, not even the thiefs.

The Sparklers were packaged and waiting to burn,

In hopes that Roman Candles would soon take their turn.

The children were awaiting all gathered around,

While visions of trailers in their eyes did abound.

And Mama with her lighter, and I with a firecrack,

Had just turned around to avoid the KER-SMACK!

When out on the court there arose such a matter,

I sprinted from the curb to see Ralf DePitatter.

Away to the hospital he flew in the *'blance,

Because of some shrapnel I saw from a glance.

The *'blance on the street of this hot July night,

Gave the crowd gathered 'round a miniature fright.

When, what to our collective eyes did surprise,

But a part of Ralf's finger found covered with flies.

With him tucked away in the back of the truck,

We all kind of knew that he was quite outta luck.

More speedy than Gonzales did that rig sail away,

And it had to to avoid Ralf's shock and dismay.

"Now, lay down! Now, breathe this! Keep open your eyes!

Drive faster! Drive faster! Or else this guy dies!

To the ER! To triage! To Xray; Let's go!

Now ice this and ice that! Hurry; not slow!

As fat kids to cake make a demonstrative bee-line,

The doctors' with Ralf's blood seemed totally fine.

So up on the gurney they worked on his body,

With paddles and gauze and no one was haughty.

And then, in an instant, we heard on the phone

The doctor declare that Ralf lost some bone.

As we drew in our breath and looked to and fro',

His Mama sat back as the fireworks were aglow.

Ralf was all bandaged from his head to his toes,

And his right hand was missing feeling his nose.

He looked down and saw it's 'cause he lacked,

Part of his pointer finger, his hand was all blacked.

His eyes - how they bugged out! His tears - did they shed!

His cheeks were all ruddy while he laid in the bed.

His nurse dabbed his forehead with a cold iced compress,

Basically because he would be unable to dress.

The stumps of his fingers he stared at with horror,

As the numbness he felt made him pray for a restorer.

He once was good looking much like a movie star,

But after the scarring he'll likely hide in his car.

He was confident with swagger and tall to boot,

We all had our wishes that he'd think us cute.

A blast of an M-80 turned him to a groaner,

Soon we were wondering if he'd be a loner.

He spoke not a sound, but went straight to his room,

And turned on the light, where he found an old broom.

And grabbing the stick with his working left hand,

He played air guitar and created a band.

He sprang to the window and looked down on us,

Could there be a better time to create such a fuss?

He lifted the pane and leaned out and said,

"Happy 4th of July! I'm glad I'm not dead!"

*'blance = ambulance