the wine festival

after three stingily poured sips
of the medicine sized paper
cups
full of warm wine
were swallowed
I got a headache, felt dizzy
and swooned
under the partial
shade of a white tent.
how was that one? the man behind
the counter asked?
it was made yesterday in my
basement.
my entire head throbbed
like a flickering light bulb.
my date said are you alright,
as I leaned
out of the sun, staring
at the field
of wobbling patrons,
jolly and rushing to the next
table of pinot noirs, merlots,
and chardonnays.
at the far end, where the tents
ended and the hot dogs
were sold
a small stage was set up
for a band, which played
loudly songs you thought
you'd never hear again.
the music echoed up the slope
of fresh cut grass.
some people were dancing, or
were they having strange
neurological episodes?
where are the bathrooms, I asked
her, bent and rubbing
my forehead. wiping
sweat with a napkin
I found on the ground, rubbing
an ice cube along
the base of my neck.
over there she said, pointing
at a line of blue plastic
out houses in a neat row.
they're over there, she
said, i'm going over to the dessert
wine table, i'll
meet you there when you
get back. okay? should I buy
a bottle. no, I said, then
gave a wave and staggered
towards the blue dots
in the distance, thinking fondly
of death.