Parades Don't Fly

Parades don't fly, she said.

I know, I said, but happy little

blue bats can fly beneath the rainbow.

You're silly, she said.

So am I, I replied.

Now I'm mad, she said.

I began sobbing great wracking sobs.

My hands covered my

smiling face and eyes.

Don't cry, Daddy.

I cried louder.

Please don't cry.

Tickle time

is what I said.

And tummy raspberries.

And tight, tight hugs.

Because the game is over

for now.

But not forever.

Jim Morgan--December 3, 2013

Thanks to Wanda for the initial subject line.