Parade

There is always
a parade.
Some are all pride and glory--
bands and flags and uniforms
with gleaming rifles in array
snaking their way through crowds,
hats raised, cheering
to the thunder of drums.
Some are processions
of tears and sorrow,
the riderless horse, the bowed heads,
the heavy silence,
always, it seems, under dark clouds
shrouding the brightest day.
But I think my parade will wind away,
off the beaten path
and everyone will be in it,
dogs and cats, too.
We'll leave our footprints in the sand,
skip stones in the water,
sing songs until dark
and pass out cupcakes by firelight
before we go home to sleep
and dream about
the great, good parade
that goes on, and on.

--Timothy Haut, March 20, 2016