before it rains

the parade
is slow and long.
the high school band
wears green and gold
with tall white hats.
they hold tubas
and flutes, drumming
while marching
in quick step.
young girls
throw up their silver
batons.
there are no floats
or beauty queens in
open cars,
no clowns, or celebrities.
just the mayor
and his wife,
someone else.
it's a sad parade,
but the children
lick their cones,
and wave from the curb,
the parents, stare past
it all
thinking of tomorrow,
of work,
of life, of how quickly
we march
to the grave, hoping
to get home
before it rains.