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Festival

Janann Dawkins*

 

 

I love the question about the used thermometer,
the upside-down cake, the crabby photographer,
the elusive allusion of bludgeoning homes, five
chorus girls & the racing-horse track. Of course

the fevered throngs might swoon, unladylike
in hot-crossed sun, while thoroughbreds flick
win place show, but soon the magistrates reveal
which raffle ticket stubs to match. The portion

of the afternoon that centrifuges customers
in tilt-a-whirls has come & gone, subverted
like a void refund; the sizzle-pop concessions
bloat but pacify. I love the question of sitting
dizzy, food narcosis blunt with bliss, the germ

of Coca-Cola held beneath the tongue – the tonic
catatonic, effervescent black absinthe, the cordial
twinned unto the feast. At midnight, wreathes
of visitors will jostle, although single-file,
through turnstiles built like Russian dolls

while pondering the fireworks that cry
like calicos with thirst.

 

 

*2012 WOOD COIN: Gender Roles in Equality: an Egalitarian Problem Issue: Dawkins, “Festival”

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