faraway country
fair. Elephant ears dusted
with powdered sugar are moving through
rows of resplendent livestock. Noses quietly snort and
snuffle. Oh, chicken, with feathers fluffed about your clucking
head. Oh, cow, judged by your udder,
a peculiar metric that generates longing, anxiety.
Oh, pig, who can
recognize a man by the back of his head. For the
fair president
standards are essential, the vegetable competitions
mandate uniformity in color, for instance. My love,
I write to you from a faraway country
fair, where cull means something else, means
something different. Do not google cull
farm puppies. Here, dogs do not have sweaters. They
have doghouses in which to shelter from the elements. Dearest
I write to you from a faraway
country
fair where I am consuming
deep-fried Snickers with my new friends. Oh, exterior brittle
crisp, flakes falling
all over my brightly-patterned tee.
Please, we are saying to each other as we eat and eat, we must
stop, we must save ourselves.
Rebecca Morton received a BA in English Literature from San Francisco State University and an MFA in poetry from Eastern Washington University. Her poems have appeared in DMQ Review, Floating Bridge Review, and elsewhere. She is currently working on a collection of poems about motherhood. She lives in Seattle with her wife and children.
