Parade, Pt. 2
by Casey Barasch
yonkers
you, face pressed against the window. you looked terrified as you
dobbs ferry
stuffed that flag upside down into your backpack and pressed it against your stomach as if it
might sneak out. you, face pressed against the window, and all I wanted to say to you was
irvington
I hope you remember the parade. I mean it. I hope you remember when you got off at grand
central station, warm and dizzy like it wasn’t just a bottle of water you drank on the hour-long trip and
scarborough
I hope you remember when you went above ground for the first time and the band crashed by
on angel wings and beads of sweat fell from the tip of your nose and your mouth opened like a
flooding river and you laughed and your hand touched your lip and you thought:
ossining
my god, I have teeth! and you took your hand away and smiled. and you knew everyone and
you loved everything and for once the traffic and the bus fare and an hour of your time didn’t
really matter because here you were
beacon
and then it was over. I hope you remember the parade and
new hamburg
I hope you grow sharper teeth and longer claws and I hope you grow old and
poughkeepsie
get the hell out of upstate new york.