“T’row me som’pin, mistah!” yells the crowd along the curb,
And the riders throw them something as if they could be heard.
The roar of human masses drowns out single voice or thought.
Only beads, doubloons and trinkets can appease the crowd’s onslaught.
As purple, green and golden hues shade everything in sight,
The distant roar of motorcycles nearing sounds so right.
Horses step in rhythm, cadence clopping as they pass.
At a float’s approach the crowds surge toward the street, en masse.
Last fling before the austere days of Lent, we celebrate
With parties, food and bright parades to make the grayness wait.
A pretty string of beads to keep, a blazoned cup to hold,
A treasured doubloon to collect become Mardi Gras gold.
At midnight, Carnival will end, like Cinderella’s ball
And costumes put away in attics, closets in the hall
Remind us of the fun and laughs we shared with loved ones dear.
And we start counting down the days to Mardi Gras, next year.