Image source: WikiMedia Commons
once a year, we played hooky, you and I,
calling out sick from work on a warm spring day,
skipping off in search of the ultimate thrill ride,
a coaster to speed back to yesterday, to cotton candy
and bumper cars and a lifetime more years to ride.
we loved the coasters, especially old woodies,
the clackety, clackety, clack of anticipation
as our coaster cart and our hearts climbed to the pinnacle,
coaster cart and heart
and years gone by…
taking our stomachs with them.
we always sat up front and center, you and I,
in the first seat of the front cart, arms high in the air
with nothing before us but the edge of time, the abyss
between now and a forever of yesterdays filled with
coasters and bumper cars, fried dough and tummy aches.
I don’t know about you, my love, but I don’t eat cotton
candy or fried dough any more, or aim thundering bumper
cars,not deliberately anyway, and sadly, I admit it, I don’t
see you anymore either, and I don't ride coasters, not even
woodies, not after that last time when we hopped on a
coaster that would take us backwards, and it did... literally.
it didn’t work the way we wanted it to and we were no
younger after than we were before. it was scary and
sickening, and the scariest thing of all was that when we
got off, the young whooping in glee all around us, we felt
older than ever before. that’s when I stopped seeking
thrill rides because my heart just can’t take any more.
Written for dVerse Poet's Pub, where the prompt on Poetics is "Fun Fair."