Slow-spinning Ferris wheel, screaming carnival barker, flash Jack banjo picker, something congealed in a jar.
Dragged by a cousin to the scary tent with the fresh dug bones of the Wooly Mammoth.
Games of fat chance and flashy fireworks, a forlorn camel trudging round a dusty ring.
Dodgem cars thumping together like cattle in a pen, candy floss masquerading as pinkish-blue lips.
Competing lights, contending noises, the grotesque, the insane, squeezed out of face paint.
Laughter, fear, desires allayed or fooled into thinking that most have been met.
A little money capering in the pocket, a carousel tune winding down into sleep.
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in Sin Fronteras, Dalhousie Review and Qwerty with work upcoming in Plainsongs, Willard and Maple and Connecticut River Review.