Emerging from under the shadowy tunnel
into the blinding sunlight of the September fair
builds more child-like suspense in me
than any movie soundtrack could.
Suddenly, all those twenty-two years
melt back into the sevens and eights
where oceans of cotton candy and
rivers of soda pop were mine to sail through.
The loud hums of the stereotyped amusements,
from Mexican dancers to redneck farmers
whistle through the air like a swarm of bees,
and I hadn’t a care in the world.
I roamed about like that, in half a daze,
so filled with the happiness of the afternoon
that I nearly forgot the Ferris Wheel,
and anyone who knows me knows
that I’d never forget the Ferris Wheel.
There’s something beautiful
looking out over the plane of the world
at a point that no human was meant to see
where the air tastes fresher than spring
and the Earth seems perfectly still.
Even if it is just for a moment,
before the basket of humans makes another spin
and we all have to step off the ride
to go home again.
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