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
orange
purple greens you've never seen
with bulbs
affixed and wires streaming,
bulging big under tarps—they've
come
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.
