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The fair
rolled into town surprisingly
intact, like a plate unbreakable because
it has been dropped and glued so many times
that it is all glue and no plate. The fair
was no fair. But, oh, it was a thrill!
The fair slid into town just as a clown
slides into pants. The fit was loose but right.
The sheriff had a job directing traffic.
The barber was the sheriff for a night,
and people paid to see a human ape.
They frowned to find her happy and alive.
The fair spilled into town like a box of tacks.
Later that month, in with the rest at church,
were people no one knew,
though none could tell exactly who was who.
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Joshua
Mehigan, Poetry May 2014
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