Perched on shoulders
Tiny arms outstretched in air
Waiting
The pageantry passing
Slowly rolling
Blessings bestowed
With beads
And other trinkets
In the royal colors
The societies
Both secret and public
Crowning kings and queens
In masquerade
They dine and dance
In elegant refinements
By invitation only
The carriages
Floats adorned in theme
Musical and flamboyant
Political, satirical, lyrical
Set apart by marching bands
Baton twirlers and dancers
Beauty queens and local jesters
We stand all day
On streets below
Begging for treasure
Amassing gold, green, and purple
Made in China
Crying out for recognition
For a prized coconut
Cup or coin
Something special
Something only for us
As the last float fades
The final marcher rests
The batons stop
Beads lay
In streets and gutters
Hung in trees
Tangled in fences
And wires
We take to our homes
Or to the bars
The revelry
Of the masses
This is ours
It is the religion
Of the believer, backslider, and non-believer all
It is our tribute
To our home
To the mud beneath
And the blood within
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