Go (Mid-May).
A song and a poem. That’s really all.
Watch those horses
fathers tell their daughters
spruced in Sunday dresses;
so calm and clean,
their necks bending in red bridles
as they go and go
(and you along with them).
Watch those horses
fathers tell their daughters
with their pink-ribboned hair;
sweet and smooth as a newborn.
It smells of popcorn and sweat (it’s Mid-May),
and they go and go and go –
the fair is in town.
Watch those horses –
I watch those horses;
Once a year, every year.
Sometimes when it’s spring,
I’ve almost forgotten about them,
but as April turns into May
the smell of popcorn fills the air and
I hear wooden hooves (and your voice).
Watch those horses –
I watch those horses
as they come and go
(and you along with them):
sweet and smooth as a newborn.
The fair is back in town
(and it doesn’t let me go –
go, go).