Frozen Parade

A poem from my two years in the Canadian military.

The snow pours itself downward, masking

the crazy clouds that linger over

the soldiers. We should be warm, wearing

our big black coats, our fuzzy grey wool socks,

 

and our Russian like hats that should cover our ears more.

We would keep pulling them down around our ears

but they won’t let us move. The odd people in the back,

who cares more about icy ears then getting punished,

 

they keep moving; almost jumping,

and pulling at their big hat to keep warm.

Sometimes these things are quick, and they sort of

just say hi, then they let us go. This time they’re mad

 

at us for something, I can’t quite hear.

We’re supposed to be at equal distance

from everyone around us, to look so proper.

It is incredibly icy. We’re all shifting slightly

 

towards the center. Stealing each others warmth, not

even listening, since all we can think of is how

long till they let us go. How many noses will

freeze? We also wonder, what is worse? Freezing

on parade or sitting through those terrible speeches.