Fiesta

It was a strange sort of day A Heavy treacley sky That seemed too thick For any bird to even try to fly. The city lay in waiting for Celebrations to begin The Fiesta of Fiestas Days of mildly hedonistic sin. He Danced a Mexican Hat Dance His sombrero slung on the floor And then to rapturous applause He went and Danced it once more. The Toreador in the corner Sipped at his third Pink Gin And waited for the Marshal To signal the Fiesta to begin. There were Castanets and Maracas And a heady Flamenco Guitar To disturb the sleeping drunkard As he snored away in the bar. It was all a much of a nothing Thought the resident Fiesta clown As he fingered the tasselled rope That let the scenery slide down. Over in the Central Prison Warden served tea in every cell Then notified the residents By three rings of the prison bell. Just a matter of routine he thought As he picked up his sombrero hat And walked quietly back home To feed his waiting tabby cat. Tomorrow just after dawn would Start much more of the same As they entertained the tourists In their daily entertainment game. It’s the same the whole world over They’ll make do with the tried and trite Do long as it’s sunny and warm And they get the timings just right.