By Geoffrey Dean
The fire trucks up in Anoka
Are white like fresh-bleached from the soaka’.
So shiny and new,
Lights flashing in blue —
Father Hennepin’s parade is no joka.
The line-up is still far away,
Until they all get here we’ll stay,
Our eyeballs wide strained,
Our neck-bones far craned,
Just missed by the sprinklers’ wet spray.
Down ’long the riverside drag
Come three grandpas, each bearing a flag.
Some parts loosely dangle,
The banners a’spangle —
Each patriot modest, no brag.
The clowns with their painted red noses,
The dancers with dexterous poses —
Pink pompons they wave,
The spectators rave —
And throw them invisible roses.
And now the courageous Boy Scouts
Pledge allegiance in bellowing shouts.
The tents come in tow
With words writ to show
Each trait this fine org proudly touts.
Karate kids kick and they chop
The candies are thrown and they drop
Into eager young hands
While awaiting more bands –
The procession has come to a stop.
In the lull in the action are heard
Random snippets of sentence and word
And girls on their wheels
Sell ices, make deals —
In sum the whole scene seems absurd.
The ants have found us at last
And the buggie bites multiply fast.
A marching band’s played,
Its drumroll delayed
Along with a trumpet’s last blast.
The babies on blankets lick candy
And puppy finds grass-eating dandy.
As oldies in back
Smoke cigs by the pack,
The breeze makes the air soft and sandy.
As high-flying flags start to twirl,
Batons through the air swiftly swirl.
Will the band keep on playing,
The cheerleaders swaying,
‘Til the end of the route’s slow unfurl?
We make our way drowsily back;
After snacks, off to sleep in the sack.
As softly we snore
Hennepiners hug more,
Watching fireworks hit with a smack.
The tempo in ending so quickens
As firework set-off so thickens
That the noise of the shots
Gets us up from our spots.
We fearfully fess that we’re chickens.
| Copyright © 2019 by Geoffrey Dean |
As Geoffrey knows, I have become a student of Minnesota talkin’, and I think he expresses it well in today’s sketch.
ReplyDeleteThanks for this most excellent poem. Writing about a parade with limericks--how cool is that--and even more so, it creates a rhythm of an actual parade so even though we were not present, Geoffrey gives us a front row seat.
ReplyDeleteThanks.
Michael, your comment prompted me to read Geoffrey's poem again, imagining that I was on the side of the street watching (and listening to the band, which I discovered now marched to the beat of the limerick feet!). I even found myself tapping my foot and rocking my body back and forth. Joyous!
DeleteAnd i can't put together a single limerick. Wow, well done Geoffrey!
ReplyDelete