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drumhoundPoems
On Saturday any Saturday every Saturday multi-themed pedestrian parades pour down commercial corridors celebrating a holiday known as WEEKEND. Middle school queens throw exaggerated waves from backseat upholstery tops in imaginary convertibles marking the current flow route between Foot Locker and Game Stop. Marching throngs display personal banners on plastic handled brand bags drawing peer clusters, human petaled floats, vying for ribbons passing devoutly interested sideline spectators now feeling a bit empty without score cards. Hippos, thin men, package jugglers stroll along the branching avenues labeled in chest advertisements including everything from Magnetic Health to Jesus. No mega-city floatilian compares to the mall regalia in a midsize hometown duck-n-spend. Though it may be a little short on free candy it is still sponsored in part by Macy's. Interlocked peddler palaces reign as shopping centers, though shopping is the least of the reasons to be here; not unlike people going to a hockey match are not going to watch hockey, or partakers in Nascar don't actually go for racing. Truth is, we are all hoping to see a collision, Haves with Have Nots, Lovers with Haters, Colored Hairs with High & Tights Refined with Undefined Talkers with Solitaries Personal Loathing with Itself. Unanimously, they all come for the curiosity of encounter incalculable, anxious, wanted or unwanted. In secret, dreamers hold royal hopes praying to Aeropostale gods pleading favor with credit cards and a bump in popularity that if so anointed the purest of this parade's followers would be next week's Grand Marshall.
0
Mar 18, 2014
Mar 18, 2014 at 10:22 PM UTC
Sitting on a Bench in the Mall
On Saturday any Saturday every Saturday multi-themed pedestrian parades pour down commercial corridors celebrating a holiday known as WEEKEND. Middle school queens throw exaggerated waves from backseat upholstery tops in imaginary convertibles marking the current flow route between Foot Locker and Game Stop. Marching throngs display personal banners on plastic handled brand bags drawing peer clusters, human petaled floats, vying for ribbons passing devoutly interested sideline spectators now feeling a bit empty without score cards. Hippos, thin men, package jugglers stroll along the branching avenues labeled in chest advertisements including everything from Magnetic Health to Jesus. No mega-city floatilian compares to the mall regalia in a midsize hometown duck-n-spend. Though it may be a little short on free candy it is still sponsored in part by Macy's. Interlocked peddler palaces reign as shopping centers, though shopping is the least of the reasons to be here; not unlike people going to a hockey match are not going to watch hockey, or partakers in Nascar don't actually go for racing. Truth is, we are all hoping to see a collision, Haves with Have Nots, Lovers with Haters, Colored Hairs with High & Tights Refined with Undefined Talkers with Solitaries Personal Loathing with Itself. Unanimously, they all come for the curiosity of encounter incalculable, anxious, wanted or unwanted. In secret, dreamers hold royal hopes praying to Aeropostale gods pleading favor with credit cards and a bump in popularity that if so anointed the purest of this parade's followers would be next week's Grand Marshall.
drumhound
Written by
drumhound
American
Mar 18, 2014
Mar 18, 2014 at 10:22 PM UTC
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