The
Price is Paid for the
Carnival
My head is a fairground,
after the parade has gone past.
Dust mashed
into my pulpy brain.
It reeks the
day old smell of stale beer and urine,
Entering my
mouth with the taste of sweaty socks
The pressure
of twelve strongmen,
Lifting hundred
pound mallets, pounding them
Thump-thump
Into my swollen
nerves.
The tinny
sound of broken beer bottles,
The chomp
of half eaten potato chips
Ground to
a powder by boot heels.
It feels the
way finger nails on chalkboards
Sound, one
monstrous nerve set jittering.
Like the Marquis
de Sade rampaging through Sesame Street.
Ok, maybe
not so much the Marquis de Sade, maybe Hitler or Judas…
Hitler’s head
floating in a jar. Bitch-ass
If I float
my head, there will be no more parades.
Buck up bucky,
don’t let the jitters get ya down.
The malicious
fish hooks of anguish tear pieces of myself away.
I am as relaxed
as live wires and thoroughbred horses.
I nap in a
rockslide and wake up to find the world painted black.
Cat was snickering,
chunks of saliva covered chocolate burst from her mouth.
And in the
not too distant future you can be sure the parades will come again.
To leave beaten
grass where the rides have stood, with piles of cotton candy vomit beside
And little
children stolen by Gypsies with silvery grips and snake tongues.
I will have
to clean my plate to get the children back.
Amo a los
ninos
And the ground
begins to do a can-can
And the sky
plays jump-rope with the sea
And the fairground
grows dim as the sun sets
And glints
it’s dying rays against broken glass.
- Christie Robb
HOME