Marching Band Competition. Poem by Kathryn L. Smalley

T h e a i r was thick, but cool that night
The band was packed together tight
A competition far from home
The weather forecast: troublesome.

I held my flag close to my chest,
The gusting wind left me quite stressed
My knees quivered below my dress
And my patience became less and less.

T h e s t e a d y drum began to sound
We marched onto our sacred ground
My flag was like a lightening rod
Yet our conductor gave the nod

The rain was just a steady hum,
It wouldn’t ever mute the drum
We marched along with no success
Since visibility became less and less

T h e t r u m p e t s wept, the tubas cried
They longed for band camp, hot and dry
Clarinets were sobbing from the grief
The saxophones had no relief

My flag was now under a spell,
Taken over by a flooded hell
Hopes were for a good enough score
But that was fading more and more

W h e n f i n a l l y we left the field,
Our dreadful score was to be revealed
The color guard, whose hair started tame
Now looked like 30 lion’s mane

The band whose shoes, usually very refined
Came off the field with shoes looking never shined
Our score was better than we’d guessed
And our disappointment became less and less

Kathryn Smalley