[Newspoetry] Festivals

[Clint Popetz]

My bald pate longed for its lover, my ever-missing hat,
as it burned in the afternoon oven of Race and Main

A child in each hand, I waded the flood of consumers who
clenched tickets for overpriced food
avoided eye contact
and seldom smiled

A community (after a fashion) 
united (as it were) 
to enjoy (in a manner of speaking) the


        "Sweet Corn Courtesy of Schnucks" 


As I stood shell-shocked by this misplaced thanks
two well-meaning old women appeared
and fastened orange-and-blue 
republican balloons
to the wrists of my girls

Ignoring the herd that was forced to part
we sat in the street
as performance art

My teeth sliced the ribbon encircling their wrists
pierced holes in balloons
deflating a myth

Then home on the bike to bake the day's bread
then to chase crickets
and then to our beds


And we dream of festivals where food is freely given
and grown without care for pests
by water that flows unsoiled
without logos or taste tests
under trees whose branches give shade
to those who care for the earth

growing what is needed

and no more