A sticky summer night, 
pale ales flowing from branded 
tents like water, my Dad, Andrew, 
Logan and myself all drinking, 
folding ourselves into our social shapes.

I am in my moth eaten guise
of charm. Carrying on and cutting up,
letting my spirit dance across
a few spare jokes, faltering. 

Something calls to me
from the stage. I want to abscond 
to the woods in drag. Forage a new scene
with the same love. Find friendship in my
foolish company. 

The earth turns completely, and we are here today.

Watching As You Like It, 
slightly drunk, and crunched
up into sticky green benches, 
summer dusk descending on us,
our shoulders, our plastic stacks of empties.