The Fairgrounds

Early the motors cry sound of their smoke
Already hot from the heat felt at noon,
By children whose passions the summer evokes
And carnival workers beginning their day.

The children amused by the lights and machines
Will suffer the heat and the dryness of tongue.
Their parents will visit and survey the scene
Amused by the children they think they still are.

As I walk among them I'm not even there.
Their eyes do not see my face painted clown white
Or the stars in my eyes that make them disappear
While the air is so wet it would cry if it could.

And then I sit down at the edge of the crowd
Rubbing the denim in brown August dust.
I feel my heart hardly pushing my blood
It hangs there so heavy I tear at the eye.

Some faces appear that before were distracted.
With cautious concern they examine my clothes
As if that had caused me to feel so dejected
And not that you asked me to leave you alone.

Nearby a man with disdainful expression
Waters his grass with his hose in his hand
And his contribution is somehow to lessen
The burden that people have put on his back.