A deflating rumination

rises out of your kidneys

and connects with the unclaimed tears

dripping down your brainstem

as you ride past the billboard

that displays today’s date.

You’ve missed another Pride Fest(ival),

not that you would have gone,

even if you were free,

but suddenly the happy hordes

on every sidewalk for miles around the city center

make more sense than the other events

you’ve missed over the years.

The idea that you might stop by

or make a shimmering appearance

for all of ten minutes

is now as dead as the roadkill robin

you passed on the street today

as you ignored other ignoble duties.

While your time with friends was needed

and you came back with other souvenirs,

you also came back and wondered 

whether next year will be the time

you try to rejoin the horde again. 

The best pride is the spontaneous kind,

where some wrong turn

provides the situation

for you to glow without regret

among an army of all ages

of people certain they want to be there.