Absolution At The Rose Garden

By the time we got to the amphitheater,
I would have happily sold
both of the children in my charge.
For a handful of beans, maybe.
For a beer, definitely.
They wept and gnashed their teeth
and moaned their horrible whiny roars
the whole way through the ridiculous parking,
the incomprehensible paths, and the
irritatingly kind Portland dropouts.
Even so,
after we’d had some food and
listened to the music a while and done some headstands,
we all felt better.
And by the time we’d danced barefoot
in the grass to the blues,
and talked about books and hula hoops,
and grinned back at the baby,
those little shapeshifters
took on their angelic aspect again.
Possibly helped along by those
guardian roses, that heathen bloomy
communion of fragrance,
the rich air of that sensuous cathedral.

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