PAD Day 23: Music Hath the Charm...

 Today's prompts from Write Better Poetry and NaPoWriMo: (1) Write a "fear" poem, and (2) "write a poem [...] that has multiple numbered sections. Attempt to have each section be in dialogue with the others, like a song where a different person sings each verse, giving a different point of view. Set the poem in a specific place that you used to spend a lot of time in, but don’t spend time in anymore."

I'm thinking about returning after several years to one of my favorite annual festivals, the XPoNential Music Festival hosted by the public alternative music station WXPN in Philadelphia. It's held at Wiggins Park in Camden, just across the Delaware River from Philly, and runs for three days with a variety of top-name and up-and-coming acts. It's still a relative bargain too, for so much music, and as a contributing member to the station I get some nice perks like discounted admission, free water and soft drinks, and meet-and-greet opportunities with the artists. (I've met Richard Thompson, Los Lobos, Suzanne Vega and a number of other musicians at previous festivals.) I stopped going several years ago, though, after a couple that I used to like to go with stopped attending, partly for health reasons. (Sadly, he has since passed away and she is now in assisted living.) This year is the festival's 30th anniversary, though, and I'm thinking of returning. Also, they now hold it in September instead of July, when it's not nearly as hot. I still have a little post-pandemic anxiety about crowds, though, and I'm not sure if I have the stamina for a weekend-long festival that I did a decade ago. But I just might go anyway, even if it's solo. (My wife used to attend outdoor festivals but it's no longer her cup of tea.) Anyway, here's my poem on the subject, a dialogue between me and the music. Guess who wins.

Festival

(for Marlene and Bill)
 
1
Yes, I used to come there every year
with some friends now long gone.
Some summers were hot as Sahara
but we'd hydrate and hide
under sun hats, slathered with sunscreen
and tough it out.
The music was always worth the wait.
 
2
The music is still here,
better than ever.
Even on those July scorchers,
there can be a cool breeze
off the river, while the fat sun sets
behind the stage, and we rollick
through the twilight and into
the canopy of stars.
 
3
I'm getting too old for this,
my joints and my bladder protest
after hours in the field.
And the crowds—I'm still grappling
with fear of the plague.
Am I ready to be
crammed shoulder-to-shoulder
with who-knows-who carrying
who-knows-what?
 
4
Everything is a risk.
You've had the shots.
We are your antidote for despair.
The joy of a shredding guitar,
a blaring horn section,
that vocalist wailing,
squeezing the mic like a male appendage.
The singer-songwriter's piano ballad,
the funk, the folk, the jazz, the rock.
Come out of your bubble. 
 
5
Okay, okay.
I've packed my blanket and Banana Boat,
my beach chair and cooler, my ticket,
my festival shirt from last decade,
my straw hat and my eager ears.
This time tomorrow night,
I'll be screaming for an encore.
Can't wait to see you all again.