My parents used to say
fair only comes to town once a year. 
Our county fair set up
in peak July Kentucky heat.
You bumped through a field
to park and walked from there. 
The loudspeaker blared,
announcing horse shows, show cows, 
even a greased pig for kids to chase. 
Friday night’s attraction, the demolition derby. 
Cars patched up, souped up
Only to be crushed again. 

A bin of reject photos
from the local newspaper
set up to sort through, 
to see if you could find yourself. 

After dark, the rides lit up.
Grease hung in the air
from funnel cakes you wore
more than you ate.
Fair workers shouted 
over the clacking of the rides.

Everyone took home at least
one mostly dead goldfish 
won by bouncing ping pong balls
into tiny fish bowls.

I heard the county sold the fairgrounds. 
I guess fair
doesn’t come to Boyle County any more.