Summer open-air festival It’s that time of year: we’ve had the solstice and we’ve had Midsummer; at Glastonbury the festival continues until Sunday; there are concerts of music and “performance” in the nearby city and, in the town, four generations of women have silk flowers threaded through their hair…


There’s no washing up at the Peace Fest:
the food stalls all use unbleached paper plates
and natural cardboard cups decorated with
organic dyes; the birch-wood cutlery’s
sustainable and – mass-produced – conveniently
disposable; instead of fancy serviettes,
we mop our spills with Basics kitchen towels.
Children romp uncurbed across our vast green tablecloth;
soap bubbles burst on my Vegan Curry Wrap.

Hmm… re-reading that, I wonder if there’s an implication that the children are also biodegradable. That wasn’t my original intention, but I suppose that, if we take the long-term view, we all are.

Author: don't confuse the narrator

Exploring the boundary between writer and narrator through first person poetry, prose and opinion

One thought on “summer”

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