Moshpit

Moshpit

Cramped.
Heat.
Body upon body,
Arm against arm
And back to front to back.
An empty Gatorade bottle is thrown
And someone yells out obscenities.
We pass tired people over our heads to the front,
They have a way out, we’re stuck.
Microphone feedback,
A drummer takes his seat.
The crowd surges forward.
I am pushed back and forth,
Swaying with the entire crowd,
Almost dragged under.
Our hands in the air
Forming rock on symbols and fists,
We jump in unison.