saturday parade

there is a parade
in old town, so
you go because you
have nothing better
to do. there are no
games on tv and you've
done the laundry, paid
the bills, washed
the car. you've
even made your bed
for the first time
in years. so you have
some free time on your
hands and go down to
King Street to stand
with a cup of coffee
and watch the boozy
grown men in little red
cars wearing fez hats
doing zig zags. someone's
golden retriever has
gotten loose and is
chasing the cars. you are
hoping there's a
crash of some sort, but
no. the owner finally
gets bowser on a leash
and everyone claps and cheers.
a group of men playing
bagpipes and wearing
plaid skirts go marching
by with their beet red
hairy legs. you avert your
eyes and put your hands on
your ears. you are not
a big fan of the bagpipe
or of men in dresses.
there is a tall man stolling
around as if he's the king
of the parade, dressed as
george washington, wearing
a tight blue uniform with gold
buttons and white spandex
pants. he has a long sword
too. there's a woman that
resembles martha washington
or ben franklin, they look
so much alike, so i'm not
sure which is ben and which
is martha. she never made it
onto any bills or coins so
i'm not certain.
george keeps his head up
with his square chin
and blue eyes and looks
out into the distance,
it makes you look into
that same direction
but you don't see anything
of interest except a subway
sandwich shop and so you
don't have a clue as
to what he's looking at.
it's a pretty sad parade,
all in all. a few horses
trotting along, making
the kids laugh when they
have to do their business
right there on the street,
some flags, a high
school band shivering
in their thin uniforms.
a gaggle of giggling skinny
pom pom girls throwing
silver batons up into
the overcast sky, looking
at their cell phones when
they can sneak a peak,
but at least you got out
of the house, and found
something to write about.
next stop, jiffy lube.