Hot April Night

by Pam Newham

There’s nothing more ridiculous
than wrinklies at a rock concert.
On a hot April night they’re there.
In their thousands they’re there.
And the singer he’s over seventy
they say.
He starts to play
and they stomp their feet
Oh, Cracklin’ Rosie
Oh, Red Red Wine
Oh, Sweet Caroline
They even sway their
cellphone torches
They whoop More More.

Afterwards they hoist themselves
On to buses and trains
and they laugh and chatter.
Listen. They’re talking about
the sixties as if they were
Look. She’s resting her grey head
on his shoulder.
See how their eyes sparkle.
It’s downright disturbing.
Anyone might say they
were young.


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