Like Trial and Like Error

by Darryl Price

We sat in a muffled
little line up on the
concrete lips of tomorrow's
sleepy chin like all
good children as the parade
limped by slapping itself
against the young day's
excitement like a damaged
tire trying its best
to remain inflated

in spite of the flatness
on every fact around.
Hungry mice were waiting
in darkly camouflaged
papers like frozen cars
with their headlights on fire.
Another poet I
know might use this unique
opportunity to
also point out their nails
were glowing like sticks of

pink butter. Finally
the fly-overs looked like
a swarm of thrown black knives
heading perhaps towards
a magician's beautiful
assistant strapped to
a giant spinning dart
board like a left behind
party favor. When it
was all gone outside was
suddenly cold again.