Fest to pub

Festival rich summers.
Blasting saxy notes over

ponchoed rainbow hunters.

Deep into mellowed evenings,

My tunes melting into those tiny wafting breezelings

And the people smiling

Some standing still, some laying 

Some swaying in dance. 

against the green hills. 

From my stage they all are wearing

love and grins

Heady with music and the aroma of ‘mary’

doing the magical festive boogie with faeries. 

My sharps and flats float above and through 

wrapping their comfort blues

around the last festival of the season. 

.

Next week I’m pubbed. 

Crowd rubbed together in sweaty drunken fun

My notes, enclosed, bounce around the room

blending with chatter and out of tune rappers

Who only know the chorus

belted out, spitty and raucous. 

Beery and cheery, drunk with the funk

saxy tunes working – I have a living to earn…

what a difference a week makes as the season turns.