Corn dog


We spoke in riddles
Antiquating melodies
Cold and shaking
In your bare hands
You'd sing it in your blue jeans
Commercialize our dreams
Economy of screams
You can smell the manure
The smell is honest
A farm that you've never been to
But know it in your heart
But how did the cows get so big?
At the Fryeburg fair
They have everything
A display executed distinctly
Of Indians with an extinct past
The narrative of colonialism sewn into all our clothes
The Indians of Maine favored the French
And distrusted the British
comment dites-vous - they sold them out
How I love the French language
Like everyone has their favorite fair food
Mine is the corn dog
They cost five bucks now
I feel like I'm paying to eat my reveries
Battered, deep fried and impaled on a stick

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