I feel the music pulsing and it’s sweet.
I see lights, my pulse catching in my throat.
I catch the scent of some animal—goat?
My soul and spirit rush ahead of feet.
I wonder who I will see, maybe meet.
Will the beer be icy cold down my throat?
Will the beer tent have an entrance, a moat
like it did that year rain ran down the street?
The band plays country music loud and hard.
I smell sweat and sawdust and many beers.
The local drunk tells a joke, what a card.
I know I will not dance, just want to see
familiar faces without any tears.
For this one night of the year, beer beats tea.
© Julianne Carlile