Surrounded by thousands

Strangers, I become microscopic

Sitting on a soggy, filthy

Army green woolen blanket

Completely soaked

Sandals mud-sucked off 

A brown river of sludge

Flows an arm’s length away

Young bodies sluice wetly into

Mass oblivion down the hill

Only to watch smiling rebels

Trying to climb the slippery slope

A slapstick revolution 

Familiar blue eyes caked in grime

Find mine and giant white teeth flash a smile

I knew well-years ago serving together

In red cassocks and white surplices

Perfectly ironed and ramrod straight

Worshippers in a different religion

He in only shorts says I lost my stuff

I say do you want some food

He says yes and a ride home and

We listen to the Star-spangled Banner

Shocked into silent, exhausted reverence

Amidst the trash heap

That was Yasgur’s field.