Friday, March 12, 2010


Photograph by Andrew Dunn

Parents watching are a blur
Wooden horses rise and fall
Music blares from a machine
Brass rings beckon to the tall

Chariots fixed to a floor
Zebra, tiger, lion, pig
Saddles carved in wooden flesh
Rabbit hops but does not dig

Grip the pole pierced through the heart
Of the steed that never sweats
Will the runt grab any rings?
Flask-drunk Dads are making bets

You are grey yet you will ride
Unafraid to look the fool
Grabbing greedy at the rings
Not concerned with looking cool

I ride on the horse behind
No, I am not in pursuit
Close my eyes and see my mind
Hurtling down a darkened chute

Faded murals that we pass
Picture when we weren’t born
No one finds the ride too fast
Young girl straddles unicorn

Stirrup dance, three quarter time
Brassy tune too stale to hum
When there was no fatal crime
Nothing beaten but a drum

Turning back and then away
Only half a ticket left
Flashbulb catch the flying day
Here and now there is no death

-- © 2002 by Jack Veasey

All rights reserved. This work may not be reproduced or duplicated in any way without the author's written permission.

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