The evening crowd feels friendlier,
more welcoming than last night's crush in Times Square.
Daytime pigeon feathers strewn on concrete
now find their place taken by flamingo pink down,
drifting by a subway grate, Forrest Gump in drag.
My daughter is on the hunt,
tracking loose sequins to their owner.
I observe an unusual amount of glitter
and shimmer in the crowds, something's up.
Young women in neckties and cut-off button-downs.
Young men in platforms strewn with rhinestones.
And enough "Respect Your Mother!"
tees and totes to be more than a coincidence.
As I watch a circle of women
in leopard and black and ties
bounce on their heels,
emotions joyful.
Body language soft, unguarded;
these friends feel safe in the city.
I clock, at last,
the blinking-so-bright-how-did-I-miss-it
pixelated sign:
"Harry Styles, Together Together
"Live at Madison Square Garden
"Sold Out!
"Sold Out!"
I may lack tickets inside,
but my temporary peripheral access
to the festivities and step-and-repeats,
the cheerful banter percolating from long, colorful queues
and the camaraderie of shared passion
renders me front row seat to Harry's fans.
