Confetti

The town had all been gathered

By the drums of the parade,

To cheer the clown’s batoning,

Monkeys marching in charade,

A troupe of donkeys braying at

Ten leathered trunks a’swaying,

While on seven hobbling horses

Danced a nimble boardroom maid.

Coiffed tigers whining, sniping,

From within their pixeled cage,

A talking head on soapbox red

Preached equaling the wage.

On stilts the ringling master

Promised imminent disaster

Might await a tightrope walker

High above the center stage.

The big tent had been readied

And they lined up every one,

To pay their hours and heartbeats

For the thrill of passive fun.

At dawn the cotton candy sticks,

Confetti stuck to dirty bricks

Is all that’s left but to forget

The good still left undone.

***

Copyright 2015, Quent Cordair. All rights reserved.