Back in the Round

You board the carousel again.
You pay the fare.
You've paid your dues so many times
you should own this ride.
But then the horses never reach
a destination. They whirl about
the shrilling organ, while high above you
carnival glowflies twinkle and spin.
O! the gloss on the manes and saddles!
O! the animals' dizzying speed!
You'd let yourself faint if not for the peril,
centrifugal force that would fling you out,
OUT! of the hoopla and into the street,
there to mope and head on home
to nurse your bruises, those indigo blotches
that tabby your flesh till all is tender.
After that—you heal—until restlessness
sets in anew. You're driven back to the gaudy snare;
you stand in line; they're waiting for you;
you step on the platform as before;
the gateman rings his electric bell;
the music starts; the world reels and softens
into a pleasant blur once more.

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Back in the Round