A New Year's Mummer kaleidoscope

Pinched from behind,
I turn in protest to a tall greenfaced man
in chartreuse satin dress and gold braids
smiling down at me, shitfaced. Sorry, Happy New Year.

As I thread through the thickening crowd,
the cop I bump into holds onto his coffee.
He smiles, teeth luminous, shiny like his black skin.
Oh sorry— did I make you spill? Nah, Happy New Year.

I climb aboard a slatted flatbed truck
searching through the trombones for Danny.
Is this New Sound Brass Band? Nope.
My gloved hand between the slats grasps his. Happy New Year, anyway.

The truck lumbers forward,
Lurching me backwards into the arms of a young man in drag.
I'm looking for my grandson's band, I say.
Wow, you're awesome, kissing my cheek. Happy New Year.

There's David, a familiar ace in the throng,
a face to push through to, to shout to,
to dance a little ring around on the sidewalk
with hugs and Happy New Year.

Among the men in green dresses
the brasses blast down the street.
There's one in gold; it's Danny.
I grope through to kiss him. Happy New Year.

Strutting through a sea of crushed beer cans,
not drunk like their drinkers, these Mummers --
just drunk on their happiness,
strutting along in this orgy of hope.

Along the wall of the school where children return today
a Wench unzips, pulls it out, takes a whizz.
A few feet away, a couple is kissing,
blissfully unaware of his pissing, his steam.♦


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