six summers
ago in russia
we attempted to
celebrate the fourth
with firecrackers
and hot dogs
in a field of pale green weeping
willows. though
i enjoyed the
motherland rumor
has it the hot dogs
are made of rats
and the sparklers
just do not last.
thus, rat dog in
one hand, shitty
sparkler in the
other, i suddenly developed a
sense of patriotism.
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the sieve and the sand 
we made hamburgers by grinding the beef ourselves in hong kong that one summer… invited a bunch of british people to an unnamed “party” and the americans ate a crapload and made fun of the brits behind their backs…
as i recall i had two hamburgers, three hotdogs, and about a pound of baked beans… topped off with watermelon, i was literally not hungry for 24 hours…
patriotism is great
I had fun until nine. Thats where everything went downhill.
darn our 9th birthdays… and their taunting single-digit-ness