Parades

In a simpler place, at a simpler time, a parade.

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Every day at rush hours, the work parade.

Nature’s parade (a duck mother and ducklings).

Greedy for a show, the people goad the fire department into leading an extended, loud procession. A parade of fire fighters, along with anyone who wants to follow them down the street.

Life goes on. Progress throws us a vine. We climb.

A parade of televisions, washing machines, lawnmowers.

Unlikely parades: robot, psychotic, introvert, eagle, and cactus parades.

Downtown, in an alley, behind the library, a chemical parade.

Nature’s parade (a forest).

Up a working man’s arm, the scar parade.

At the store, during the panic, a T.P. parade.

The line at Starbucks in the AM: coffee parade, zombie parade.

Automobile parade. Ambulance parade. Taxi parade.

Muscle parade. Meat parade. 

Across upper lips everywhere, the mustache parade.

Parade of the office lunches, a long line of yogurt cups and Cup Noodles. Soon after comes the sticky note parade.

 

Empty streets.

Nobody parade.

 

Nature’s parade (clouds racing the skies).

In all the public places, the mask parade.

Online, the tweet parade.

Underground, the ant parade.

Endless, unstoppable, yet everywhere recognizable.

Published by Kurt Gailey

This is where I'm supposed to brag about how I've written seven novels, five screenplays, thousands of short stories, four self-help books, and one children's early-reader, but I'd rather stay humble. You can find out about things I've written or follow my barchive (web archive, aka 'blog) at xenosthesia.com or follow me on twitter @kurt_gailey. I love sports and music and books, so if you're an athlete or in a band or you're a writer, give me a follow and I'll most likely follow you back. I've even been known to promote other people's projects.

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