[Glenn Wright]

Danse Macabre

Hot, heavy air—we wear red, white, and blue—
firecrackers—shoulder-to-shoulder we stand—
hands on hearts, not sure what we should do,
listening for the high school marching band,

awaiting something stirring—a sacred belief,
powerful, patriotic—Here they come!
Cars with flags, the mayor, the fire chief,
horses, batons thrown high, a beating drum.

They pass from left to right, from east to west,
as if God told them to pick a direction and get
the hell out of Eden. My hand slips from my chest.
I smell the tang of gunpowder and sweat.

They march along without a destination.
Is it a punishment or celebration?
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Edits:
S4L1: Where did they come from? What their destination? > They march along without a destination.