It was a hot fucking day in July. We were young and gloriously naïve. The Grateful Dead were set to pack JFK for a jubilant celebration. Shakedown Street was shaking as all the Deadheads shopped for tie dyed t-shirts and kind grilled cheese sandwiches. JFK was an old decaying stadium and one could envision gladiators in leather helmets going to battle on the field of honor.
Decrepit bathrooms
a parking lot full of dreams
liquid joy bestowed
Bruce Hornsby set to open up the show. He was Jerry’s buddy and some of us knew how good he was. It meant going in early and enduring the heat. Harken back to those gladiators. We can tough it out ourselves. Lest we knew a final celebration in an antiquated house. Inspectors were in the stadium day of making a final condemnation of JFK. An announcement of closure and destruction less than a week away.
Fall apart slowly
not suited for rats or bums
but Deadhead approved
It was a grand time. Certainly not there best but some interesting songs in the mix. They should have played “Samson and Deliah” but I’m guessing they didn’t know themselves. The inspectors condemned a building but were willing to let 80,000 Deadheads face the danger. They didn’t realize it during the show but they were going to tear the whole building down.
So we danced joyous
in the soon to be ruins
blissful unaware
An estimated prophet took a wharf rat to Hell in a bucket and the other one turned on your love light. A little red rooster standing on the moon gave scarlet begonias to a loser. Not necessarily in that order. We elevated our consciousness as we sweated away impurities in our hearts. We filtered out feeling good. The party continued on to the next stop on the tour. Soon we would learn the news.
An old piece of shit
we miss her in spite the flaws
some joyous moments
lifted spirits brief moment
not knowing we said goodbye
https://www.postpoems.org/authors/georgeschaefer/prose/1106744
bathroomgraffiti 