Chilanga Sprinkles

Limp 
Like a bad lover
Hangs the flag
On a rusty pole

Surrounded by old men
Some balding with
Graying and sparse
Comb overs
Some already bald

They sit on splintered
Wooden benches
With peeling paint
On a windless
Hot summer day

The grass 
Under their 
Velcro-shoed feet
The texture 
And color of hay

It is so dry 
It cracks 
Even under the 
Slight pressure
Of rodent paws