Monday, May 20, 2013


On a Monday, the horde 
of greasy flatbeds rumbles 
through the another suburb, converging 
on the early 
vacant lot—packed 

to capacity with fiber-
glass, filthy 
wood, painted metal oxidized 
purple greens you've never seen
with bulbs 
affixed and wires streaming,
bulging big under tarps—they've 

again this year with prizes
to build a new light city for laughing, 
a fraud
we can all believe in, teetering 
atop the glitzy ripoff carnival slide so unreal,
so wonderful, so dizzy- 
strange, your gassed kid
will never even ask you how it all got there.