A summer of discontent,
suffering theof torrential
downpours, and foggy
misty colored mornings,
lacking of brilliant sunshine
and carefree days of
all your reminiscences.
Another solstice come
and nearly gone with
nothing to show but your
pale pigment and saturated yard.
The days long gone, or of
summers past; one day to
bring the universe in alignment.
In your rambling search
for the one moment that
takes you home, you realize
your smile just brightened the room.
And you have returned.
And you recall it all.
The animals and their "fragrances"
The fruits and vegetables
of some dedicated 4-H-er's success.
The games of chance more
giving than a lot of choices
you've made by yourself of late.
A grand Midway of rides and
thrills that you no longer
have the mind (or stomach)
to encounter anymore.
And the people.
The melting pot of humanity
clutching cotton candy
and twelve foot tall
plush dust collectors.
Melt in your mouth chicken barbecue
feeding the masses and
making you long for a moist towelette.
The exhibits entice you,
just as they did when
you were twelve and snot-nosed;
short pants and dirty knees,
and a curiosity befitting your age.
You remember it all, through
those eyes, and you crave for
that one more day to be twelve,
to sully your knees, and sicken your
stomach on an abundance of fudge
and the odor of rancorous cow pies.
Calliope music is your soundtrack.
Shouts and screams are your chorus.
You love these days, the last vestiges
of another summer gone amiss.
Youthful exuberance drips from
you like a cascade; washing you
in memories not soon relinquished,
and giving you that sense
that if you can get yourself to
another Fair season, it will be
a very good year. For this day,
your father's "Sonny-boy" has returned.