Block Party Solstice

The entire party's being

held outside of standard time,

a minor surge of sound. Three

by three, the party goers pass, as precise

as cotton candy. It's true

they are excessive. Some say

their pink, sticky hair drifts off

and floats. Do you feel spun sugar in your face?

Déjà vu. A parallel

picnic, running into night,

is dense with candied music,

little lost sounds mixed in an anodyne.

All the people with pink hair

lie down, sleep their paisley dreams,

dry martinis for their pain,

laughter spinning in the citronella breeze.

Carol Frith