Lost Vacation

a festive parade was taking place
uptown beneath a clear sky lightly
scarred over with thin jet streams,     bands beat
the cadence to sirens screaming and babes
crying alarm from mommas’ breasts,     bosoms
heaving in summer heat   .   .   .   nobody
would say what the hullabaloo was,
but it sure seemed delightful in a haze
only partly to do with tequila
and hash smoked from re-purposed pop cans—
it could have been  mexico, New Orleans,
or even  Newark  for all I was aware,
but in the end it only mattered that
somehow we made it out alive          and dry.

David M Pitchford
4 Jan 2012


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