october state fair aesthetics
you are the last one on the swing carousel, and the buckle chatters like the bones of a skeleton. you wonder what the odds are that it will come undone. you wonder what it’s like to fly. the taste of cold metal interrupts your fantasy; you bite your tongue harder.
the parking lot empties, and the lights flicker off, one by one. the moon is full, and you see mosquitos buzz around the headlights of the cars. they swarm; you stand. the cold wind scratches at your arms, and you pull your jacket tighter. the sun felt like summer, but at midnight, you know that winter has come early this year.
discombobulated laughter wafts from the top of the Ferris wheel. you wonder if ghost children can laugh, if they can enjoy the view from a third story cart. glowing red letters announce the fair’s fiftieth anniversary, and you hear the creak of tired steel a little louder.
you cut your finger on the rusty fence lining the perimeter of the park, and you look to the fields behind it. the sun is setting and the grass is brown; against a line of trees you see a shack with a faint light and a porch swing. you smell pumpkin pie on the breeze and look once more; the light is off. you search your bag for a bandage and do not turn around again.