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Maybe something a little different for Pride Month....



I hold my head up, barely-

with parades in it, it’s heavy.

I look at the world and know

that they’re all looking at me.

They are.

I’m important.

I have to be or there wouldn’t

be such a beautiful fucking parade,


At least today they’re looking.

They can’t really ignore the music

and the sweat, and the skin and the feathers.

Some bring their kids,

I automatically make way for strollers.

I notice lots of dogs, some very fancy.

I get tangled, briefly, in a sparkly leash

when a bulldog in a tutu

takes a turn for a terrier.

There are beautiful, beautiful people.

Beauty, I know, a distraction from pain.

Smile, it’s your day!

They smile, on cue-

they really want to mean it.

There are old people- at least fortysomething.

It’s funny, they smile anyway.

Some stand back,

not really there, but they have to be.

And some, I know, are quietly holding

a heavy excuse to beat me with

(they practice on themselves, like I did).

But not today,

They’re outnumbered.

Is blue the sky, or the other way round?

Today, it doesn’t matter.

My eyes are clear

my back is straight,

my neck getting stronger

with every passing feathery float.

~ D Gregory Smith

(Posted with permission)

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That was wonderful. Much liked. Thanks to Greg.

It is also nice to know I'm not the only one who writes poetry as if it were prose, or writes prose and pretends it's poetry. :)

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