by Greg Grant
The air smelled of sunscreen and bratwurst.
Three guys tossed a football in the back of the field.
Kids played kickball and swang on the swings
The shelter was humming: some sold T-shirts and sodas.
Others checked out guitars, while,
After their sets, the singers signed their latest album,
smiling graciously, posing for pictures.
Vendors sold indigenous instruments,
Rattles and shakers and drums,
Silver jewelry, beaded wallets.
Onstage, guitars rang with songs of love and loss,
Guilt and glory,
Hope and betrayal,
Cars and wars,
Wit and woe.
Each gust of wind brought down the first dead leaves of fall.
Couples on blankets leaned back against the cooler or each other,
Holding hands, sharing secret smiles as they
Watched their toddlers bob up and down to the music.
As night fell the air chilled, and the stars came out.
Some lit candles; some lit incense.
Others huddled under blankets for warmth.
And then Iris sang like an angel come down from heaven.
If only you'd been there, it would've been a perfect day.
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