Song for Porches

At the end of the block,
a car stereo is blasting
oldies
too loudly;
the bass rattles and thumps
in monotone changes---BRRR-BRRR, BRRR!
From the corner of my eye
I catch a mechanical firefly
just over the horizon of the houses;
this moving star is blinking at me:
the passengers are saying hello,
fresh from adventure.
Kid's laughter erupts somewhere down the block,
beyond my sight.
The scrunched houses
and black asphalt
lay good acoustics,
and carry the spirited uproar
a good half mile.
Blinding headlights--car attached--
roll down the street, slowed by the night
and the playing children now being called in by their mothers.
Dogs like gnats barking at things in the dark.
I perceive the firefly again
sailing in the opposite direction—
(“Drop me a postcard! I’ll be here!”).
And finally,
I,
the porch-sitting observer,
thinking in the moment
of these things,
sit on my porch,
and revere quietly.