Fireflies

The flies that have headlights—

They are her favorite part of summer;

She would pass up on the fireworks just to see

Fifty of them every night—

Her brother says that she’s just naive,

Says its part of being six years old,

Says the glowing lights really aren’t headlights,

Offered her a scientific explanation that

            She really couldn’t care less about.

She’d choose them over

            Peach cobbler with vanilla ice cream

            Watermelon seed spitting contests

            And sunscreen-smelling afternoons.

She’d choose them over

            Running through the sprinklers

            Swimming with ten-million blow-up toys

            And staying up later than ten o’clock

Her mother says she’s cute,

Her father smiles,

Her Grandmother calls her ‘Precious’—

She doesn’t know what that word means yet—

            But all she thinks about in the summer is

            Whether the flies with the headlights ever

            Get stuck in traffic

Like her daddy does.