Wallingford Wurst Festival

Holy Mary 

Mother of God

slinging bratsmoke

and sauerkraut

to the brass-blat strains 

of The Seattle Civic Band

in the glare 

of the Wallingford Sun.

St. Bernard Parish 

is at its wurst.

Teenage girls 

rush the red flagged crosswalk

flamingo legged 

and shrieking

at the sight of 

cow-licked skateboard boys

fresh 

from double catamaran runs.

They are received with 

stage strut hugs

and leis of shiny beads

underneath the approving wink

of evening christmas lights.

The bowels of 

the brick and mortar 

catholic school leviathan

open and reveal

a timeless auditorium

populated with tables

of ruddy faced parents

authoring landslides of laughter

in florescent light.

This time could be every time.

Older new student parents

weave through the peopled room

lugging Fender amps 

and Tama Rockstar drums

to the elementary stage.

The annual reunion 

will be baptized 

in St. Benedict lager

and raffle ticket confetti.

I take in the beer 

and I take in 

the wonder of shared joy

right down the street

mere steps away 

from my front door.