Grand Funk Railroad

by on January 31, 2021 :: 0 comments

We waited overnight
camped out to get tickets
at Flushing Meadows Park—
morning came the crunch
the line-push squishing
us front-forward into the
booth, the swell crushing
my chest to near collapse
feet lost from under my
body, gripping my bag,
contorted in sweat, it is
July humid even at dawn,
my precious dollars at risk
as my life, screams converge
hands and torsos rub against
strangers in this claustrophobic
swelter a yell for order,
slow down, a beg follows,
please, there is one breath
left inside, someone rages
There are children, don’t
kill the children! July 1971,
on the verge gasping
for air till the booth opens
the trickle gives, quarter-
inch to quarter-inch,
till we slowly untwine
to exit triumphant with
tickets gripped firm
in trembling fingers,
extricated from the mob

editors note:

A narrow escape to say, “I was there!” – mh clay

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