Seen by the curious in a park
that skirts medieval city walls,
police neutrally on guard,
come several hundred Gay Pride marchers,
Brothers and Sisters plainly dressed
who demonstrate for freedom to live
without any bias from law or the Church,
banners and placards high.
(In future parades they’ll chant or sing.)
They halt five minutes near where I stand.
Two men hold hands and never let go
as they solemnly talk to other marchers
and people lining the route.
There isn’t a holiday feeling yet,
too many minds to win over.
Barry Frauman is a gay Chicago poet proudly associated with NewTown Writers, the area’s oldest gay writers’ group.