Cowboys and Carnies

Cruising through the Santa Rosa Fair Grounds in a short cut to Costco, I came across the underside of the bright and sparkly lights of fair time. Broken down to packable pieces and carefully boxed, the attractions took on a new perspective. Drawn to the gritty beauty of it all, I had to sit in my car and write this.







Early Monday Morning
and the carnies are packing up
gaudy, neon-trimmed rides into
respectable wooden crates, numbered
in orderly sequence that fit nicely into
plywood gypsy wagons with words
like OCTOPUS and FUN and THRILLS
painted on the sides in drippy red flames
artistic little windows daubed on with curtains
a flower box there and more red, geraniums

The Dome of Doom is disassembled
and Spider Island is on its side
with its hummingbird tongue spokes
rising out of the dusty hard pan and weeds
Just last night, all the way to midnight
the greedy hucksters barked and wooed, lurid
The rides winked at rubes and their gals
"Step right up, sucker," and there they did
and quarters flew from every pocket
onto the glass ashtrays in hope of a bear

Moving slowly around the bend, the cowboys
are doing their laundry at the horse barns
old blue shirts and denim dungarees flap
on rope lines, faded, seldom seen in open air
more than one vaquero scrubs the horse blankets
and towels in a bucket to dry alongside the duds
one guy sits in a wheelchair as he pins up
the wet rags that curry a nag's sweaty hide
On the way back, cowboys sit in the sun with a beer
and read the Bible while the carnies pull their rides

Early Monday morning, and the carnies drive on to Cottonwood
Later, the horse trainers will follow in their cowboy Cadillacs
pulling Hilton horse trailers with air conditioning
as they sweat inside their trucks, their silver-toed boots
in a special box with a handle for showing, brushes
and hoof trimmers and ropes and bits, all packed
for the next big Okie parade into the next country fair
The strongmen long departed, run off with the
bearded woman, who's having a thing, a fling with a
sharpshooter who sleeps in a tiger's cage down yonder