With eyes lined,

And mighty haunches fed, bred for dragging ten thousand pounds,

In regal repose, the beast of burden between appointments with the public and the pull.

Steve and I strolled the garish fairway of sugar and screams,

And abdominal organ rearrangements, two for the price of one.

We ambled to the stage for a pretty good Johnny Cash impersonation.

And to another to sing the national anthem in the dark.

We witnessed drivers loading into their reinforced weapons, soldiers going to war for the Demolition Derby.

 The deafening derby’s aftermath in silent wreckage.  All in the name of destruction.

Some things never change.

It’s a comfort to know that there will always be the best bouquet, the perfect green bean , the finest pair of knitted gloves, the strongest oxen team, the most fortified jalopy, singers who imitate the great, and Steve and I, like other spectators, gathering for an evening where screaming your head off is not only the norm, but the expectation.  It’s like being young.

First photo by Steve Kramer, the rest by yours truly.