Noises and Lights

Those metal clenching, heavy as houses, drive kids crazy—the swings, the whirls, all the hard pushes, and even harder pulls. Sky heights of those rides, petty little seats, made for children, manage adults too.

The crowd swaying, speaking gibberish. Just noises of all kinds— happy cries and blasting ones, well, that is all the sound.

Carpets of eternity, weight of thousands. Pushed and rolled to the grounds. No one looks down, not a chance, when there are spectra of lights on the crowns.

Crockery next to jewelry. Haunted House & ice cream parlor. Cola, selfie point. Grand snack outlets, pampering bellies. Mountains of arresting toys— all flashes and flair.

Ritual of going in circles, no destination found. A bit here, a bit there. That's the thrill of going around.

I forget what I saw, I was into eating. I don't remember what I ate, I was into shopping. I don't know why I shopped nothing, I was into rides. I don't know how quick it ended, I was looking at lights. I don't know we went to a carnival, I even missed the crowd!

Carrying only a sensation of something I've been through— that rush, that spark, and tiredness. The legs are the ones complaining, they always do. Every time.

I slept, I don't remember, waking on the round. I don't know what I missed, I know what I caught.

That day of thrill, boxed in my heart.