Clean as a meat face floor

[tmanzano]

She would get upset about dirty floors.
I wondered that while everyone was running around on it. 
 
My mom would always yell at us if we tracked in the outside.
 
…and here he is, bleeding all over it.
 
There was a lot of yelling going on, everyone kind of freaking out,
and I was only interested in large towels. 
 
My brother had his hands on the sides of his face covering his ears
while my aunt was holding my stepfathers face together with a grimace. 
 
Fourth of July was always something special at my house.
All the kids would come down and see us blow a trash can up in the air.
 
My stepdad always had those M80’s on the fourth
and didn’t disappoint this time.
 
The explosion was something to be seen
with unprecedented height.
 
We would always wonder where the ambulances and firetrucks would go,
chasing them on our bikes as fast as we could.
 
Now they’re at my house and like gods storming out,
their yellow suits and boots slipping around on my mom’s floor, making for respite.  
 
A frenetic dance under pieces of us on the floor,
sticky, in need of addressing in the years to come. 
 
I was talked about, and to, for weeks, years. 
It is all I could think about, but never felt.  
 
Dirty floors, blood, firemen, and large towels.
Towels, towels, towels!
 
I have never stopped scrubbing.