Dave Bonta's three short lines set a single summer night side by side with two kinds of light: the natural flash of fireflies and the loud, man-made burst of fireworks. The poem doesn't comment on either one. It simply lists what the speaker sees and hears, and that plain, quick style feels like someone standing outside, watching it all happen.
The most surprising moment is the last line, where the moon "turns to fuzz." Smoke from the fireworks could be blurring it, or the speaker's eyes might be tired or watery, though the poem doesn't say which. Either way, the moon loses its sharp edges, and the noise seems to have smudged even the sky.
The mood is quiet wonder with a faint note of wryness. The title, "Independence day," hints at a big national celebration, yet the poem pays more attention to small, soft things: tiny insects and a blurry moon.