For the Portland Rose Festival
Amidst the riot
of costumes
flags and floats
sleek decorated horses
restlessly flick
their hooves against
the unyielding pavement.
Drums and bagpipes
pierce the crisp air
as Boy Scouts
Chinese dancers
rodeo queens
and clowns
await their cue.
The feathered Chief
cannot conceal
his solemn look
as the sequined majorette
now past eighty
exudes a joy
she never let go.
I wonder
if they know
that their spectacle
reminds us
to believe
in the beauty
of our own stories.
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