Susan Wheeler

Boy in lit din – trailing tickets in strings, a man on his hand – tilts at the red poles, dots, rainbows in kliegs; tilts past

rickety gates manned by bent men, men bent into bars like the man with the boy bends to bars, too; tilts as a T-shirt shoves and dissolves.

Boy blinking in noise, with coupon trails, veers at the hand out to Wipeout near Yo-yo and Claw; Graviton, Zipper,...

Child, entering Ye Olde Trading Post, takes the pegs upon the walls For trees, fingers the beaded doll in buckskin dress, a moccasin,

A square of maple sugar maple leaf, small imprint of a fingernail In its clear window. She wants the Minnesota charm in green,

Six of ten thousand lakes in silver raised, Babe the Blue Ox and her Mate. REAL! CAN OF WORMS! a label states; another, on a bow

And...