༺ Finger Writing ༻

a Glastonbury solstice
near dawn
a young guy
balanced on top
of a standing stone
at the mini-henge
amongst the crowds
awaiting the sacred moment
trying to have
some kind of “pagasm”

he had rainbow laces
in multi-coloured dockies
purple macrame flares
plaited leather belt
paisley waistcoat
with grass leafs
loads of beads
a big felt Dr Seuss hat
and a mahoosive spliff
everything looked
brand new

I looked on
with a bunch of loafers
as someone made a remark
about the poor guy’s awkwardness
his self-conscious determination
to have an epic moment
and we cynics
began to take the piss

I recall hysteria breaking out
merciless laughter
people howling
and rolling on the grass
one guy
lying on his back
drummed his feet on the ground
and cried
“no more! no more!”
I hadn’t laughed like that
in ages
the fact that he was
only just out of earshot
made it funnier still

all these decades later
with evening coming on
a twinge of shame
has replaced that mirth
a cynical carapace
hasn’t defended us
from diddly squat

neither his hopefulness
naivety or pretence
nor our scorn
or street-wise posturing
as we waited
for our suns
to rise
could delay
our fates
blazing
sputtering forth
towards the setting
of that sun