ST. LINGO'S CARNIVAL
How different this all is.
When first drawn, it seemed
an animal at the left, now I see
just lines and smudges. I am
lingering here, too late at the
fair. I bring nothing home but
some trinket : Round wheel
that spins for numbers; the
sack toss into a hole on the
wall; the rifle-shooting at
fluffy, plush rabbits. But why,
I ask, why? All those girls
are laughing, at the boy with
the soda can. The man at the
cotton candy machine refused
me. He asked, instead,
for my brain.
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