Idle instruments lounge in deep recline
Where musicians left them moments ago
The last riff still humming through our feet
Resolute vessels of cheap summer fare
Styrofoam plates lie scattered on flattened grass
Under cold fries or smeared tzatziki
Screens flash on only to check the time
But little red circles intercept the attention
Reminders that someone else is still working
Cool shaded breezes carry away stale heat
Emails get checked again just in case
The band rests but we don’t
-T. Weeks
(A response to “Hush’d Be the Camps To-Day [May 4, 1865]”)
Life Immense 