CAROUSEL

    by Bates Corlieu

The  merry-go-round just makes me want
everything and all at once ;
to lay my cheek on the wooden floor
and watch the spinning world from there
or drag one foot and scuff my sole
to spark these taps to fire
or to lean way out from that fat brass pole
half blown     eyes closed     alone
till I feel my fingers sweat, “Danger”
till I hear the black horse catching up
demanding six cents of my nickel
making me pump his beautiful breath
into tears to swing up for an endless ride
hovering just above his black flag
letting go only once, of course,
to clap two times and fly