From Paul Siegell’s new book, jambandbootleg !

back
in the crowd,
the undulating cobblestone,

dozens old theater-seat rows from the stage—

I had nothing to do with this, but am,
indeed, a part of it:

most stones in hats/flat brims, some
dreaded some buzzed, frump shag-
dangling others, a few thinning, and o,
female sweet
put-up pull-back boogie abilities in love as well—

for all the cobble’s in a yes-nod celebration:
aerobic, rolling, absorbed—transmitting
supportive rays:

nothing says “thank you!” as sound as dance.

and then, when intensity descends to overwhelm
and a song’s expression c’mon-c’mon climbs that rise—
with all those loyal lyrics and notes exploding—

hundreds of handfuls
of cheering greens spring
up
like affirmative fists
from the cobble.