On parade, for all to see,
gyros and their filaments,
are coloured, different light.

Low lights, of the neon kind,
flicker alternating strobes,
on parade, for all to see,

a hard right on Memory Drive,
past the craftwork and its stitches;
gyros and their filaments.

Everything is sugar sweet,
only for a moment’s time, the shades
are coloured, different light.