I hated working beside the carousel; Phantom laughter would ricochet over billowing manes, And reach my ears as I watched the horses cycle In their eternal loop.
I wished I could mount them one last time, See the spinning carriages of my friends as we raced To the merry jingle that danced from speakers above, To the amusement of my fellow underpaid worker.
Running away to join the circus sounds glamorous, When it doesn’t involve selling tickets and socks to toddlers, And cleaning half-eaten Quavers from desktops. Instead of manning the rides or prancing with kindred freaks.
And yet, as I sat across the room from the rainbow of horses, I wrinkled my nose; grateful I had not been given the job Of preparing a fleet of stained-glass horses for their parade. Because I would exist in perpetual nostalgia.
Each button press would be a mockery; the machinery begging Me to feel the nausea of slushies mixing with doughnuts, As we span together in our race toward a tradition, Now obsolete.
Imogen L. Smiley (she/her) is a twenty-two-year-old writer from Essex, UK. She has anxiety, depression, and an endless love of dogs, having four herself. Gothic literature is her passion and she loves to innovate and examine concepts in both poetry and prose. You can find her on Twitter under the name @Imogen_L_Smiley.