We stand on the side of the road,
some of us with children riding
on our shoulders, hoping to see
the felons passing in the parade.
There’s the lady who killed cats,
and there’s the banker who stole
millions from the poor, and now it’s
the prison’s elite marching band.
Look, a whole gaggle of gangsters.
They don’t look so tough now,
riding in that hot dog bun float.
Ah, we can’t get enough of them!
Time was, before the Felon Days,
which is one of the newer holidays,
we could only feed our obsession
with evil by watching television
or reading true-crime books. Now
my son wants to see the couple
who strangled the 17-year-old girl
to death with a television cord
as they’re sprayed with soy sauce.
So I lift him higher as we all wave
our flags and spray sunscreen
before heading to a picnic lunch
where everyone agrees this year
was the best parade ever and that
everyone should try the grilled
child molester, not to mention
the tasty roasted rapist on a spit.