Concert

Up from the underground parking of the Common,
new sights, new sounds surround me.

Seven on the tower clock - a little early -
I'm just a block or two away.

If you look about you, you can pick out those heading where you're going to:
a silent wave of singles, often couples, trios, groups of more -
independently advancing.

Turn a corner, come across a gathering of early arrivals, waiting patiently.
There are always tickets in their pockets (good ones, too)
as if you were expected. A brief, friendly exchange.

Time now for a sandwich, settle on the curb across the street.

Casually check out the fares as they're dropped off and absorbed into the growing crowd.
The light laughter and friendly conversation barely reaches me here -
suppressed by the traffic and near rain.

Darkness advances - more neon and headlights.
Foam-cupped coffee. Thin plumes of blue smoke.
A few drops on the shoulders of overcoats.
A horn honks as the sidewalk spills over.

Inside - the stage is set, all in readiness.
The doors open, and we are ushered in. It's time...

Later, I walked lighter 'cross the Common. Just past nine.
It's never hard to remember his last line - let it shine.

(Written around 1981 about a concert given by Dan Fogelberg in Boston, 1978.)

Cam Longhurst