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.
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.