An old roller-coaster ended in a rusted place.
Once, a monster framed in wood
Chained in an amusement park,
Weeds now prying into its metal track.
Quiet are the loud tongues and the peanut crowd.
Small children baked by the sun,
Tore them to a boot;
No longer runs the ooze of asphalt, the ichor of tar.
Sag-backed basketwork of timber and nails leaning over.
Once, foreboding— stroked a fear,
Cracked your bones from the clanking sound of teeth;
Seated in wooden coffins, snuffed out your eyes.
Hauled up to a black and white fear— dropped you into its mouth,
Its clawing hooks took you on a hellish ride;
Sweat plucked your fingers off the bar as you twisted and turned
In loops and corkscrews; outpaced you with its gorgon grimace.
Its armor-plate, its toppled skull, silent heartbeat daylong
Nightlong being swallowed by the earth.
Rattling wood, I heard its bolts unlatch; its demise fits
Me like a sad jacket, numb limbs and its last rites.
Copyright © 07/08/18 lance sheridan®