Streetlight Serenade

The streetlights

watch over the drive

from my house to the city,

sometimes with their warm yellow glow,

sometimes bathed in a pure bright white.

Regardless of their tone, their texture,

their message is same:

when first one,

then another,

then another – at random intervals –

snuff out before dawn dusts the east

fade in before dusk descends upon the western sky

or – this week – to be sure I am paying attention

or that I haven’t given it up to coincidence,

when they flicker, flutter,

flare, and frenetically

flash and fade

like candles on your birthday cake

before returning to their

steadfast station,

it’s then I know –

have always known –

that this is the way

you show me

that you are here,

ever here,

never gone.

The streetlights watch over me

warm and pure.

Tonight,

knowing that before long,

another dusk,

another dawn,

another daily drive to the city,

will witness your streetlight serenade,

let’s blow out your candles together.

Happy Birthday, Dad!

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