Summer Fair

At the summer fair in upstate NY,

where large women in lose tank tops

fan rolls and sell deep-friend butter

and men with leather red skin laugh

into green necks and the last of a pack

of cigarettes, a camel stands. Its pen

is surrounded by kids of all kinds;

two legs, four legs, pelts and skins

and sticky hands. Kids with mismatch

sneakers and holy t-shirts race through hay

and sun streaks, dashing through yellow and gold,

tossing limbs and kibble, all bleating together.

The camel heaves hotly, as if projecting

some sun hotter than this, though I stand

sun burnt and burning. Reaching above rough

wood and a flurry of sun motes to her neck

brings her slowly to her knees and in the tilt

of her body, the crowd halts, every drop

of sweat seeping through crows feet

stops its stinging. Just as thin strands of sand

fall, she settles, and like lightning strikes

the sweat falls, the crowd resumes.

I reach and touch the tuft between her ears.