At Western Washington State Fair

After traffic backup and teen crack ups, my friends and I park and toward today’s lark, through gate, stamp and bracelet I race greeting other friends with new to make. Amid fried onion reek and the compete smell of fresh buttered strawberry scone tastes tantalize—corn dog and cotton candy and the lingering hunger we dare not name… Will we catch breath with a forbidden grope in the house of mirrors, more likely laughs at the lack of kiss in the house of horror where the grizzly man eyes me up and down. Lank and leathery, could he ring the hammer home win me soft animals to cuddle and show, offer dark corner kisses more experienced than teen boys but I run, run from games to rides to exhibits. Until night turns alive with lights and concert goers depart and I wander alone, greeting and tasting sizzle— my arm grabbed and a boozy mouth covers mine and I’m backed toward the garbage by cowboy hat. “Who’ll save me?" I twist and fight hearing laugh. The harsh brush of hairy bristle on cheek stills me, I relax, take what I wanted however different it feels. He loosens grip. I break away to crowd shouts and laughs, he follows offers a bottle of bourbon and an endless starry ride on Ferris wheel and I sip and kiss, measure and search. Missing friends are here, somewhere. Will they come with rain or closing hour? But soon one whirl too many on scrambler has me puking in alley, my hair pulled, clothing loosened and grabbing hands hurt and my neck bit and I’m led stumbling toward the House of Horrors and screech at descending knives more real of having tasted the truth of fair men. Grown men, men experienced and legal and I, neck bruised and heart hammering flee, rip off bracelet, find friends waiting at car.