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
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