If I were a songwriter, I’d make it a good one. I’d make it a hit in the fast food parade. People would pay me, then they would slay me, all while they sit — in the fast food parade.
August 22, 2021
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Front Row Blues
Fences and flags, rich men and thugs, pickups and guns — see them all at the fast food parade. Pay to get in, march to the drum, pay to get out — everyone’s dumb at the fast food parade.
Grandma’s in the hospital,
dying in the hall —
Jesus cries out, Just look at them all — in the fast food parade,
the fast food parade, the fast food parade.
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Categories: New Poems & Pieces
Tags: Borders, Diaries, Fences, Flags, Guns, Ignorance, Jesus, Journals, Poems, Poetry, Politics, Selfishness, The Blues, The Fast Food Parade
William Michaelian 