...The Dead Bury Their Dead
by Sean Taylor

The bray from the trumpeter
Sneaks through the kitchen window,
Settling gently near the steam
Of the fresh apple pie.
He waves at the winos,
Calls for the shop-keepers
To forsake their brooms and buckets,
And join his rag-tag-tag-along bunch.
Ignoring their hop-scotch and jacks,
Girls and boys follow behind,
All ribbons and denim and lace and bare feet,
Dancing the familiar sing-song.
Buckets and brooms well in hand,
We smile sweetly goodbye
As the blaring entourage makes the corner
Of Third and Dogwood.

©1994 Sean Taylor