A Summer Memory

The Bluegrass Festival

A weekend village has sprung up

Gulf Streams, Dutchman, Fleetwoods, tents

a bass drives out a beat

while the dobro weaves a path through it

guitars fill in the edges

as the fiddle springs to life,

and the banjo dances in and out

vocals weeping in the distance

the professor, pharmacist, salesman, and lawyer

this weekend are banjo, guitar, bass, and mandolin

the development director of a small charity

               is dancing Denise

teenagers appear at the edges of the compound

               instruments nervously in hand

only their timidity standing in their way

where else can you wander into somebody’s home

               quietly pull up an empty chair

and become part of their evening

               whether as an appreciative observer or participant

and leave later, never having exchanged names

               drunk off intimacy and community


This poem contributed to dVersePoets Open Link Night.