I'm barely there,

Hanging by a ravel on my cut-offs.

Everything is going on at once.

This particular event seems just a front

For the underworld activities below.

I see my friends in debutante dresses,

Their tresses coifed,

And I have a welt on the back of my knee

Where a red wasp just stung me

While I ran a pinwheel rake

Over the newly mown hay.

I still smell like the fresh cut Sudan grass and diesel smoke,

From driving the tractor south most of the day,

To move it to the next field that we'll be baling.

My hair is tangled,

But my eyes are bright,

And I see the dull expressions

On a few of my friends,

Who put up with this nonsense 

By taking Valium.

And they've had to pay for the privilege 

Of being sifted at this overblown stock show.

I hadn't heard about it,

And I fight between the urges

To feel slighted,

Or to be glad I missed this competition 

That smells a lot like prostitution 

And money laundering.

But tomorrow, we'll all hear about the winner,

And how far her looks are gonna take her,

And I'll have a hundred and fifty dollars in my cut-off pocket,

Making a dollar an acre, all the rest of the summer---

Good, clean, old-fashioned, cheap child labor.

-jenn