Concert: CONFIDENTIAL

Tonight I surprised myself by attending a concert.
This makes two. Concerts.
I also attended a Billy Joel concert in the summer of 2014 but I couldn't be sure because I was sitting so far away. It may have been Billy Joel. It may have been a musical raisin.
It turns out that tonight's concert was a secret. So I will not tell you where it was. At least not online. I am only allowed to tell you if you take me to lunch. (That's what they said.)
I have two friends participating in this concert. I greet them. They instruct me to meet and sit next to a tall girl named Bethany on the section of damp grass nearest the front. I do so. Bethany likes my hot dog hat.
I think her name was Bethany.
I feel a poem-ish thingy is best for describing my experience this evening:
[Sidenote: this will be very free form. I did not pay any attention in Poetry Class.]

Buns of men stray to craniums,
Nomads from pants.
Grass tickles parts of me
I'm not happy discussing.
Your jeans look soft,
Your bun is long and stringy,
Trailing down your neck to tickle
Your tunic of national emblems.
Don't take photos! Don't take photos!
No social media! Trumpets a staunch blonde
Spilling his beer as he reaches for his phone.

Swans woven in lakes of cotton
Shelter your rhythm from the elements.
Wee husks devoid of tears crack at your ankle,
Mandy Patinkin drops the beats.
Women far afield will your lungs to know their worth,
We can't hear you! Their wails mix with the scuffle*
Of bicycle leaps and sweaty toddlers.
Vowels ooze - melodious fractions from Gemini,
Four blue orbs search you unblinking;
The downbeat your secret.
Will you share?

Well, that was fun. Now I've dried out my contacts.
Prosaically:
I sat in my oldest pink skirt from Old Navy on a thin and long patch of wet grass and watched a boy with a rat tail wearing comfortable looking jeans and a flag T-shirt sing some songs and recite some poetry very quietly for a bunch of ladies and gentlemen with man-buns while a dead ringer for Mandy Patinkin provided percussion from his swan fabric-draped drum and a maraca he had stuck in his shoe. Meanwhile my brown-haired, blue-eyed friends sat on a picnic table and sang oohs and aahs for backup.

*Hint.