At the concert in
the park: Christian
family wearing
long skirts and
tucked in skirts
playing country and
bluegrass.
It all something
out of the hills,
the past. “I’m
gonna live where
the green grass
grows,” the
audience in Old
Town: old people
and decrepit people
too bright grey
unreal, self-conscious
in the muggy
twilight, a voice
“I wanted to buy
the champagne
grapes, they were
so cute, smaller than
blueberries.”