Marching Band.

MARCHING BAND

   Life will ever go on
   When death swings her baton,
   Leads crowds of marching souls
   Unsmiling, there to pay their toll
   While we, sidelined, gape at first
   Then losing interest, slake our thirst
   At some near bar, or tiled dive
   Where soon our talk will turn to snide
   With racy implications
   Or tenuous intimations
   And a thousand other things
   That have a familiar ring,
   Remote from that unmerry band,
   Those spirits walking hand in hand.

   We slip a quarter down the throat
   Of an old jukebox, there to elope
   With an old tune or just mouth the words
   From a lifeless song. We deal out cards
   With an extended hand across the bar
   We wink and laugh, and from afar
   Scrounge through salty nuts
   For an almond, or a cigarette butt
   And then we part, flirt on the terrace
   Avert the gaze of an eyebrow raised
   With hearts racing
   And bodies bracing
   We never see that marching band,
   Those spirits walking hand in hand.

--SARAH BRAMWELL