Native at Johnny Appleseed
In a tent, aligned with many other tents, at the Johnny Appleseed Festival, an older gentleman is dressed in Native American skins. The small popped-out-belly dangles little over the clothe that hangs from his hip. He stands, first without being noticed, and then, his bare legs lead to stares as he turns to reach into a kettle that sits to the left of his seat, where he had been sitting behind a small table decorated with Native American items to sell. The clothe moves, little in its draped position, this mind worrying if he may mistakenly flip the lightly flapping clothe up. He is now with his buttocks to the passing people, as if this is an everyday occurrence, as if he was in a chip and dale show. Surprisingly, his legs are not flabby, the muscles moving as they should with the proper ripple as he moves some item unseen to the passer-byers. I stop to think about the woman who sits in the tent across the way, wondering, how long did it take for her to get use to this, does she think it is disgusting, has she finally tired of staring at the partial naked body and wondering when his junk will become visible? I am thankful there is no wind.
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