Marching Band
By Caitlin Wasson
Blue and gold and white uniforms
In unison, feet hit the ground
"Left, left, left," the drum major cries out
As I lift my feet and bring them back down
A shrill whistle sounds ahead
Readying us to play our song
The same song over and over again
All of the parade long
I let my instrument fall
Once the song is done
And wipe my sweaty forehead
Thinking, "This is where I belong"
With precision and dedication
We form the marching band
The best instrumentalists
In all of this land
The drums tap out a cadence
That all of us march to
Like a heartbeat moving steadily
Steadfast, proud, and true
On and on we go
Past the judges stand
Knowing that we'll win
Because we're the best of the bands
Crowds cheer all around us
As we near the end
I look over to my left and right
At my smiling friends
The whistle sounds a shrill command
"Mark time, don't move!" they shout
I smile in tired exhilaration
This is what it's all about
One more count of four
Before we do kick-down
Then we break formation
Without a single frown
All of us are dripping
With sweat and grease and grime
But all of us are happy
And can't wait for the next time
Hair clings to my forehead
As I remove my hat
And when I unzip my jacket
Sweat is pouring down my back
My spats are really grassy
And my shoes are dirty too
But who really cares about clothes
When you've still got something else to do
The muggy air surrounds me
As I put my French horn in its case
I hurry and put it in the car
Because there's no time to waste
Although we think we won
We need to be sure
So we file to the judges stand
And await our score
The final results are in
And our predictions were right
We scream in jubilation
And hug all our friends tight
This is the drama of marching band
And those who love it so
Why walk when you can march?
Where ever you want to go