Our intentions were good,
they were pure,
all we wanted was
to put a smile on your face.
If only.
A million and a half balloons,
we thought,
would do the trick.
We let it all go
in public square,
never to return.
If only.
Our best laid plans
blew away
with a strong gust.
Crappy weather
brought the launch down,
but our spirits were still high.
Then came news
of a hail of balloons
interfering and inconveniencing.
We wanted to bring more color
to the people of Cleveland,
and they ended up surrounded
by it.
It didn’t have to be
like this.
I brush aside the falling orbs,
as they pile up, and cascade off of roofs.
They float placidly on Lake Erie
unaware of the chaos they’ve caused,
but I know it all too well.
If only.
The File Pile 