AT CARNEVALE
HALL
In two-time fast-feet motion, let me
state the obvious: the tree is falling down.
Now the odious: Hey! you are standing
too near it for comfort. Everywhere else
around here, the air smells like soap.
-
And I don't know what to do. The bivouacking
cast and crew of some meatball circus due
in town is just now beginning to arrive. Alabama
license plates, and Mississippi, and an old
Mercury Cougar and Dodge truck or two.
What a strange array of cast-off junk, just
now parking in a million dollar parking lot.
-
The lady by the front door, still young
enough by my standards to torture, me
anyway, is looking straight out. The sunlight
beneath her arms seems to make her blouse
transparent. Oh boy on that one! This circus
already brings its wicked charms to town.
-
A little cider-mill side-stop like this one
seems to get its share of passing shows -
the sideshow, the carnival, the circus romp,
the peep. You wouldn't figure there'd be
enough money around to make it pay -
but, hey, these farmer types get bored
as Hell and get there way as well.
Makes for a happy day.
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