Summer structure is the teacher’s
double-edged sword: every day’s Sabbath, but
no one sleeps in. Restless pilgrims
open season, queue delirium: Take us, take us—
So, I gas the chariot to the Granite State.
***
A man’s shirt reads True Religion.
Our tickets reclaimed first—at the altar of what is
between the Dragon & the Corkscrew,
burned, ashed, screwed, opened—take it
as you will. Ready to praise &
accept the world in this incarnation,
the cigar puffing grizzly holding court,
who says, Either way, you’re gonna pay.
***
The pre-teens say the lake park’s lit
with the joy of assembly, people-watching
children I don’t have to follow. I’m dragged
to the Star Blaster, strapped in.
The local at my elbow is terrified. Glancing up,
the ubiquitous stickers, Live Free or Die.
For a moment, above the argument.
***
When my sunglasses are lost, Genesis assists
but they’re gone. The overcast sky means a thief
won’t discover the prescription makes them useless.
He robs himself that spends a bootless grief.
***
This afternoon we’re sweating sinners
in the queue or floating briefly on Da Vinci’s Dream,
the swings that nauseate my wife,
harnesses resembling diapers.
***
At the One Direction tribute band,
I wouldn’t mind it if the ground opened beneath their feet
into a Sarlacc pit, a yawning maw of preposterous teeth
snagging the boots of the one I guess is Harry Styles.
***
So be it, pony up for our traditional boon
at exit: three caramel apples.
Care’s carousel behind us, holiness & fear
of vertigo gone,
back to the good news of the pavement.
What they don’t finish, I will.
Image: Chair-o-Plane Motion by Kirt Edblom, licensed under CC 2.0.
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