This town holds a bed race

around a quarter-mile track.

Yes, actual bed frames, mattresses,

on bicycle wheels,

each with jockey perched 

on the sheet

and two guys behind, pushing.

Lots of cheering from the sidelines,

grunting and puffing from the teams.

Two almost collide.

Another tips.

Its rider flops into the infield.

Miss Bed Bunny gasps  

from her perch

near the finish line.

From here, it’s onto

a tomato festival, 

much cooking and tossing assured.

And then the International Possum show

followed by the National Slingshot competition,

with many would-be Davids

out to slay their personal Goliath.

I’m here to see what America does

when it thinks no one’s looking.