Mile of Music

Standing downwind of a city
filled with song

and all I can smell is the ash
of Canadian wildfire

but can just make out the sound
of alcohol beneath the traffic

carried in from the East
on a railroad staccato

of blues-soaked country
echoing from an open bar

while a punk-rock woah-woah-woah
wafts from the southern river bank–

the end of a day-long opening act
for a weekend concert of geography

and disparate rhythms,
a drunken symphony

of mingled sound and sweat and humanity
at one with its contradiction

and united in incongruous waves
of life and joy and loss

drifting in and out of doors and speakers
to meet on the avenue

and in the ears of an audience
still looking for the song that hears them back.