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by Laryn Bakker (published in Lyrical Iowa, 1997)

It has become the main attraction in
a circus sideshow, dutifully pouring its
212 thousand cubic feet of water
each second and lightly kissing the
$5.95 thrill seekers who journey down daily
to conquer the beast in their protective
yellow ponchos.

Iron railings once built to protect
the people from the falls now serve
as jungle gyms for screaming Japanese
children and casual footrests for the
wax spectators who peer sleepily at it while
they think about haunted houses, and
how the tour buses all know which way to migrate, and
how they just saw Elvis that morning.

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