the parade

parade © bd


man at window

A cit­i­zen stands at a win­dow ambigu­ous in the light
drink­ing water from a bot­tle warmed by his hands

on the street below

louts and idled fac­tory hands stand slack-jawed as
the sun browns their heads, stones bake their feet

priests push doors back against pesky schoolboys

the parade

blown by the windy roar behind them,
lines of aging church­men in ver­mil­lion,
hoods thrown back from sweaty faces—

the poets drug behind them, chained like apes—
mealy-mouthed boys in blue vel­vet trousers
and vapid girls in cardi­gans, in love with love itself

the heretics with happy horns and con­i­cal hats of grass
get a laugh from the fancy boys on palan­quins—
for them, the maid­ens paint them­selves with blushes


name-calling blos­soms amid the ground­less rumors,
brag­gado­cio and fisticuffs erupt among the rowdies

oh, trousers of such blue!—and ah, blush­ing maidens!


2 thoughts on “parade

  1. Humberto

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