107. SOME KIND OF APRIL / SOME KIND OF MAY

SOME KIND OF APRIL,

SOME KIND OF MAY:

It was some kind of April, some kind of May,
and the flowers were growing on the lawn
and the trees had already brought forth
the leaves of Summer as the boys in the

charthouse band had taken the stage in

the little Victorian Park bullshit band shell the

town had erected for parties and parades,
and two guys I watched came out with a barrel

and fireworks and the brass band playing

Sousa marches was tuning up from what
sounded like Hell itself while the crippled mayor
and his pablum steeds spouted bromides and platitudes

blarney and greed - a good speech it is said

has them all mixed in one - but no one was listening
as some human cannonball was brought out in E-flat
and stuffed into the tube and they lit the fuse as a
loud crash ensued - the guy went flying while all in

flames and landed thirty yards away dead like a

brick and fired up too and they tried to revive him

but all the rescue guys were either drunk or in the

band - the ribbons came down and the last

I'd heard it was some Memorial Day for the

record-books : three dead fourteen burned

and one retarded kid suddenly brought back

to full and clear and precisely-perfect mental

health - which I guess wasn't saying

much for anyone else.