The angry parade*

goes past quietly, somber,

at odds with The Day!


  • (A little false-to-fact juxtapositioning, no?  The parade is anything but quiet or reflectively joyous.  Christmas? Baby motorcycles, go-carts and dirtbikes flash and whine past without regard for kids, speed, stop-suggestion signs, and nary a cop – most likely watching for drunks on highways – to be seen to halt the parade of potential carnage.  Sometimes I am unsad to realize my new cell phone has no bars in front of the house.)

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