Parade

late November air, crisp pale with the steamy breath of borderless joy for children who sit curbside bundled in the bulk of layers softening cold children (mitten heavy) waiting waiting for a parade of mother goose, hand-stand clowns fairy tale floats and glitter princesses glassy as if stars shivered into pieces children, free of complications their rosy palettes of cheeky faces their laughter scribbled like graffiti on walls unknowing of the bloody passion that shakes the walls of peace children, resistant to the frost, shift with each marching band in praise of winter's pull like pumped fists in the air halting (briefly) endless clips of time for children with vantage points to catch the reindeer tow of Santa with festive thoughts that scurry like mice in a maze passing parade holiday hardy a glitzy show that snaps bare trees to attention like watchers to mimic the sassy steps of elves rotating in a world crying seeking magic pitter-patter propelled like children's kite-high wishing