winfield (1989)

under towering elms knuckling the autumn mud we likewise pitched our ams
to the spoonfed stars periwinkling migrant in clear railroad sky, winfield
kansas, ragu phil and his alaskan sweetie passed out on a
hudson bay blankie by the campfire, nearby river swelling towards us
like a poaching beerbelly, whoopshollers& pickup trucks with
splintery siderails lurch over puddledruts and pedestrians, longbearded men falter
in the underbrush disturbing crickets gospel screetching, pulling
drunkenly on suspenders attached to the local courthouse kerosene lanterns
illuminate the hoedown of insects zeroing in on the sweaty
thighs of farmgirls, songs of heaven on earth, burps and marshmallow sacrifices,
harmonies of consensus& mister learned offers this----hey d'yall notice
the scenery's fineprint, no foreigners allowed? here in the groined heart of america
winfield kansas where the common sin is silence
glare from the bandstands rocking with standup bass while country women
twirl skirts and lyrical lassos and a freight train is passing
aways to the north, campsite of stillwater okies centered around a dug-earth firepit
where massive logs turn solid energy& radiate glowing fiendlike
on many probable characters streamline campers pulse and bob with
mating attempts the occasion rises only once a year, dirty blankets stretch under
people worn thin by the day, twelve thousand hootin kneeslappin broadbrimmed
goodole boys waiting in line fer the portapotty twelve thousand goodole girls
chickenstomp their dreams away of the vogue college scene
twelve thousand wicked younguns tell thei best jokes in the pup tents
twelve thousand honkies toot their anglosaxonphones spending
a weekend amongst their own while a few of us dirthippy foreigners show them
up at their own, not so exclusive, game



1989, Winfield Kansas bluegrass festival