The man had built

a wonderful contraption, a huge float
that would have put anything in Pasadena
on New Year's Day to shame, festooned with
bright, flashing lights, animatronic cartoon figures,
and devices that generated bright sparks
like a Roman candle spurting on a driveway
on a drunken Fourth of July.
The whole thing was on springs that shimmied and
jumped up and down in perfect rhythm
as Sweet Georgia Brown blasted from eight speakers,
and from time to time
brightly lit, fluorescent-colored streamers shot out
from the mouths of the hilarious-looking gargoyles
that lined its upper rim.
He stood at its apex, on a big, rotating platform,
wearing a sharp three piece suit
that glowed brighter than a neon sign
on the Vegas Strip, topped off by a nifty bow tie
and a hat any guy could get laid for wearing.
He said, in an exuberant voice, "Well, how the hell
d'ya like it?"
A man covered in sores and lying
near the sewer opening
propped himself
up in slow-motion agony on one elbow
and said, "Very nice."
He then coughed up blood
and passed out,
as the huge throng that was
gathered there cheered wildly
for the float and a beaming
delegation pinned a huge blue
First Prize ribbon on it.