Nothing to See Here: a poem

Dim bars of blue and red
Dance across my ceiling
Play across the sheer curtains
Gyrate on the walls
And strobe like a disco through my windows.

Rhythmic, pulsating, like the beating of a heart.

The lights dance quietly to the hum of engines, and the chatter of neighbors.

Some of them are walking towards them,
But are stopped by the neon yellow coats and ruby hats.
Most of them wander aimlessly on the sidewalks, making small talk.
The teens have gathered in little groups on the lawns. They're laughing.
Some of the adults are smiling, too.
Steam rises from the hot pavement. The air is humid.
The dancing reds and blues make it a block party.

One girl, maybe seven or eight, turns to her mother.
"It smells like camp! It's like camp!"
She starts jumping up and down, pounding the sidewalk with her little feet.
"Camp! Camp! Camp! Camp!"
The lights dance in rhythm to her chants, exciting her like a strobe would an epileptic.

The lights skips across the neighbor's roof. They flicker in the attic window. Smoke wreathes around the chimney in a seductive scarf dance. It promenades down the shingles.
This light is orange.