The Soybean Festival

All up and down the town’s Main Street, the old folks sit in plastic chairs. Children are already tasting, all that candy soon to be theirs. In the crisp early morning air, floats gathering in the school’s lot. “Get on with it,” old men grumble, “before it gets too gosh darn hot.” When around the corner they come, and Old Glory is carried past. We stand with hands over our hearts, pray our nation will always last. Marching bands come belting their tunes, with shiny instruments and drum. Then yells from excited children, when the clown cars finally comes. King and queen riding in their cars, fire trucks blast their siren and horn. Candy tossed to smiling children, as laughter fills the joyous morn.