Glastonbury 2008

I wasn’t there
but Kelly was

and Joan Baez, Leonard Cohen, Amy –
who may or may not have been off her face
and hit someone –
Winehouse.

Neil Diamond
in the tea-and-biscuits slot on Sunday
Cherry-ohed,
red red wined
sweet Carolined
and reminded

me

of kisses and melting. The whirr
of the washing machine. ‘Washing? Who washes
on Sundays?’

‘I do,’ I said. ‘I work all week.’

(Besides I have to teach
this afternoon, if I can stop myself shaking
and drive.
If I can start making myself make sense.)

There were eggs scrambled in butter. Grilled bacon.
Mushrooms
toast
champagne.

****

I shouted for Joe. Come
listen to this!
He dragged himself downstairs, said
oh god mother what now?
He stayed for a little while – after all
it was before he was born
and nothing whatsoever
to do with him.

****

Kelly was at Glastonbury. She went
on Wednesday, camped
I think. Spent
nights with drummers, fire
eaters, people with masks.

She’ll have joined in
stayed up late
found someone to sing with.

Kelly doesn’t do edges, watching.

****

I cleaned half of the kitchen,
the half near the stove. Shined
oil-bottles (ground nut and olive)
til they gleamed. Consigned
past-sell-by-date herbs
and spices and things in jars I’d bought
because I thought
they might be useful
to the
newly washed
bin.

****

Joe stacked the rubbish
in the back of the car: the bottles
and the cans.

****

Groove Armada shook their ass.
There was strobing
and flags waved.

****

I smoked far too many cigarettes
drank three bottles of wine
loved
Vampire Weekend. Joe made toast.

James sent a text. Aaron left
his wallet.

Annie rang from Guernsey, bored.
Her father gave her a diamond.
She strung it
on a chain, hung it
round her neck with the ring
I gave her.

The kettle broke.
Cats demanded attention.

Spain
won the football.