The Fairfield County Fair is always the last county fair of the year in Ohio. That's where I'll be today on our day off.
FAIRFIELD COUNTY FAIR
It is a fall harvest fair,
not a heat and humidity of summer fair.
It's the round barn against the October sky (maybe blue, maybe rainy),
betting on the harness racing until we run out of money or races,
4-H exhibits
baked goods
quilts
photography
collections of who knows what or why
mullets and guts
and snotty-nosed kids running wild clutching carnival prizes.
We buy maple syrup and homemade sorghum molasses
to last the winter.
The smell of peanut shells on our hands
brings curious velvet horse noses out of stalls to snuffle.
We touch oily sheep backs
wonder at the odd slit-eyes of goats
pick out the craziest chicken breed.
I always fall asleep in the car
on the way home.
THE COUNTY FAIR
by Ron Padgett
The Holstein looks at us with big eyes but with no expression
in them. What images are flashing in its brain? The white goat
walks over as if to ask a question, but it has no question to ask:
there is no question mark in the goat world. The rabbit's pink
eyes dilate when a hand draws near, but it does not move, and
like a horseshoe, it says nothing. The two holes in the top of the
goose's beak are in search of something to get huffy about: the
poor goose is angry and without real nostrils.
The Holstein looks at us with big eyes but with no expression
in them. What images are flashing in its brain? The white goat
walks over as if to ask a question, but it has no question to ask:
there is no question mark in the goat world. The rabbit's pink
eyes dilate when a hand draws near, but it does not move, and
like a horseshoe, it says nothing. The two holes in the top of the
goose's beak are in search of something to get huffy about: the
poor goose is angry and without real nostrils.
(the rest of the poem is at The Writer's Almanac)
Liz has the Poetry Friday roundup today at Liz in Ink.