II. Cumming Fairground
This is the most perfect of all worlds,
A maintenance worker tightening a bolt,
Saṃsāra – feet dangling from the Cyclops™
A panting, aching machine, creaking through
The air while twisting its spine for my thrill.
Anatta – My body is a thing flung – there is nothing
Here worth saving, form this Cyclops™
After, wobbly knees, maybe eleven at this time?
Only rode the rides to impress myself, look--!
I can hold on, longer, can straight grin it.
Oh that funnel cake turned in my stomach,
Maybe not so brave, not like a Cherokee,
A cowboy or a conductor, I took off my sheriff star,
Removed the feather from behind my ear and
Handed my pocket watch to my mother and lurched.
A sludgy rock inside my soft tiny body, Intestines rattled
Shaking with a little bead of sweat on the brow + the small back.
But I did do it? It counts, doesn’t it? I braved the scariest attraction.
Now I want my throne, my tickets back, a little praise.
“Son, I cannot believe you got back in line after the
Moment of brief and overwhelming hesitation.”
I got back in line and strapped into the seat,
I felt awfully, but by God, I rode the Cyclops™.