The Parade's Over Poem by A.Z. McCoy

The parade's over
The clowns and politicians
Have all gone home,
To slumber in blood and war-hinged treasure,
Tucked in moonbeams stilletoed, window bars pass over.

A shadow-beaten street off in liminal
Alley away from other-worldly
Tungsten glow, The drunk teeters over
splintered glass, a scintillating dark
Beyond his slipshod
Croon and path.

What emits, in the lone dog's howl,
In the kid's dewy iris, in laughter
That rings down halls
The phantom footsteps of what was,
What will be machine-gunned classroom
Pleased don't rest assured
When Gentleness passes over

This place is an idea, and
That makes it no better
Than the coldstone charade
Of clowns selling you a Hoover,
An iRobot recites Shakespeare on repeat
Warmth will be near forever, you can count
Your ledgers nightly with a feeling
But don't expect another parade.