after the long parades

after the long parades

we watched quiet sweepers

take their tired brushes

to confetti

bottles, wrappers

such trash

maybe

projectile casings

now what if marchers,

too, wore simple

custodial uniforms

with sober faces,

kept to their places–

what if all spectators

watched a little

of their own waste?

what if the marchers carried

neither instruments, nor weapons;

rather than dead flowers, seeds:

what if their shouts and songs

were lyrics of invitation

not mere celebration?

would the watchers stay,

could the cleaners never show?

causes are causes,

hoopla is

hoopla.

the tortoise

won his race

say, just like the meek

might inherit

this earth