[First Post] 1209
Memorial Day, the fire engines on parade:
deep red, chartreuse, banana creme yellow and chrome
baking in the bright, bright almost-June sunshine. Shade!
Where young families flee from horn blasts to eat ice cream,
and a butterfly weaves through its crowded summer home...
Hear sweating bands march sprightly to the drummers' snare,
and martial music carries far as in a dream.
A dream, perhaps a dream to those who were not there.
For then the speeches, old men sitting still on stage,
frozen in the heat as sunlight fades, engines leave,
children hold their parents' hands, and butterflies age.