A night in mid-August and you can hear them from your house, the drums begin and brass sounds follow like quietly excited children, like the two who walk with you over the hill.
The sun sinks into eveningβs quicksand, your soggy clock of adolescence ticks faster than ever.
Scent of popcorn excites your nostrils, grey couples talk soft, slow, and once your blanket is draped upon the grass you see an orb of hollow green drift sleepily up, up, over everyoneβs heads and you wish you were that tiny balloon, floating far away toward something new as each teenage summer blurs into your brew.
Written: May 2013 and April 2014. Explanation: Apologies to those of you who do not like Plath, but for my final year dissertation at university I will be writing poems about her (and also her husband Ted Hughes), and topics the two of them looked at. On Friday 15th August 1952, Plath and two children she looked after that summer went to a band concert in Chatham, Massachusetts. The scene is described in her collected journals. A work in progress - feedback greatly appreciated for not only this, but all future poems dealing with Plath and Hughes.