Parade

Tents, flags and family dogs,
All part of the colorful median strip
That, until his morning,
Showed verdant green.

Military and school bands
Salute my country
With drums and horns
As they step briskly to their march.

A small town with 10,000 visitors
Celebrating the unlikely 231st anniversary
Of a people who would not tolerate
Decisions made by others.

A terrific day for the sellers
Of snacks, Uncle Sam caps and rides on Segues.
I marvel at the waving folks in convertibles
Who seem to have wandered into the line of march.

My favorite contingent remains
The “Precision Marching Lawn Mower Moms”
They perform with an air of silliness
Adding a delightful insouciance to the day.

Locals, like me, could point to
And wave at friends and neighbors
Who proudly represented such groups
As the garbage collection company.

Of course most every politician,
From within one light-year,
Managed to share handshakes and execute hi-fives
With us humble folks.

Even those as cynical and crusty as I
Could look at the watchers and paraders
And feel at least an “Oh, what the hell”.