Sober for July

Tonight, I am present with my red cup 
filled with water. In the woods my friends 
dance above the shooting fireworks. 
When colors hit the sky I cringe rather 
than look up with my mouth agape in awe. 
They raise their fuming cups and spill hot liquid into their throats. 

I am present in my abstinence 
while they are absent in the present. 
The fire sputters when I poke it with 
a cautious foot. I am covered in its 
warmth while my friends are filled 
with molten heat in their stomachs. 
At some point they will spew soaked 
ash into the bushes. For now, though, 
they feed their cups with gasoline and guzzle it like vans. 

Presently, I am uncomfortable as sobriety 
fits me like a gifted itchy sweater. 
More than anything I want to remove it. 
I want to prance freely with my friends. 
I want to be shirtless on a summer night 
drunkenly engaged to adulthood, 
but this is no Vegas blackout wedding. 
What happens here will drag with us into the morning light. 

Ultimately, I indulge in my presentness. 
I take mild pleasure in their slurred songs 
and absentminded words. I hold their 
secrets; and halfwitted comments; and 
their hair back when puking on the grass. 
There is a certain pride in safekeeping 
these memories for them. Despite my 
hatred for the thundering bellow of fireworks, 
I am reminded how even in abstinence I may find joy in the present.