Idiots On Parade by Rose Aiello Morales

Everywhere I looked

Standing at the bus stop
with transient grins, plugged
in to nothing in particular
and thinking it important,
speaking in tongues to the air
and the crackling static.

Mumbling in the movie theater,
talking dialog from different films
and yelling out the endings
of the coming attractions, all
the while throwing popcorn
from the lower balconies.

Museums were over run, crayoned
signatures on masterpieces, mustache
on Mona, fig leaf on David, beer bottles
at the Last Supper, Timexes sharing space
with the melting clocks of Dahli.

And in the streets the martyrs were trampled
in the rush for fire sales at Filene's Basement,
free lattes at Starbucks, GaGa sitings in Times
square, the return of Elvis to his Graceland home.

I saw and went suddenly insane

Obsessed with idiots on parade, screaming
news of Lindsay Lohan and the Big Brother finale;
until kind hands helped me with my (strait) jacket
and brought me safely to my beautiful new home

Where I could talk to the rest of the Intelligentsia.