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~Christina's Beast~

Christina shuns the freaks,

all the rides, dime-pitch gambles
towards a carnival glass prize.
She never gives the barkered games
of rings and darts a go.  

Though she pines for the grower
of award-winning squash,
and would love to taste his yellow crookneck,
she's yet to stroll his autumn gourds
set beside the strawflowers.

Christina returns to straddle
her up-side-down tub 
beside the sow she prays
the judge deems worthy
of first-place blue.
  
Her thirty-year collection
of runner-up, cherry red ribbons
has faded to the pink tint
of her 4-H beast,
the flower entombed between faded leaves
in a diary of squeals and wounds.

D. B. Tompsett