Merry-go-round Dance.

They're flattening the old merry go round today so I figured you'd get back home. In any case, it shocks me to see you after so much time.

Your face is endured now, your once flexible skin drooped and sun-wrinkled into glare lines that retreat behind your turning gray facial hair, and there's a moderately aged gut that wasn't there previously. In any case, you're remaining with those equivalent slumped shoulders and your hands in your pockets, grinning that equivalent gapped-tooth smile, and I remember you in a moment.

For what reason did you stand by so lengthy?

27 insurgencies of the sun, you've been no more. I know since I've counted the occasions. Each ideal dawn, each blood-orange nightfall as I watched youthful darlings share cotton treats kisses, and ride our merry go round like we never existed-like we never sat on those painted horses and wanted for something better-I've counted them all.

What's more, presently, you are right here. Back on the island.

Obviously, I know haven't arrived to see me. I've proactively seen the outlines that are rolled and gotten into the criminal of your arm. I see the lackeys in their wellbeing vests who anticipate your order (very much as they did your daddy) and I understand that you is driving this task. Also, I figure you could have failed to remember what you guaranteed me.

So I will remind you.

Before the sun sets and the downpour comes, and the dimness pursues you away once more, I will remind you...

Do you recollect life on the island in '96? It wasn't exactly great, disregarding the influencing palms and shaded coral reef...only two or three neighborhood kids like us could validate that. We fortified over that. The platitude of wet-season island presence.

We'd sit on the unfilled ocean side, eat extra lime skittles and stand by listening to Nothing Ride on the walkman your daddy purchased you...talk about how exhausting everything was. "I simply wish something would occur," you would grumble as we took cover under pandanus trees. "Some different option from downpour." I used to gesture and concur, all apprehension and tore denim and adolescent pulverize.

And afterward something occurred. Your daddy purchased the merry go round.

"He will fabricate a major carnival," you told me, taking me by the hand and aiding me through the wire fencing. The signs expressed not to intrude but rather you didn't really like his guidelines in those days. We strolled through thick island brush until we tracked down the proposed site. It didn't seem to be a carnival. The rides were generally destroyed, dispersed like mechanical dinosaurs in a metal boneyard. Yet, the merry go round was completely unblemished.

It's difficult to accommodate that great old young lady with the disintegrating structure booked for destruction today. She was such a stunner thriving. Grand and debauched, with gold meshing and a pony in each colour...now blanched and blurred like our once lively reef.

Do you recollect how we professed to ride those ponies right to the stars? To the central area? To anyplace yet here? What's more, how you kissed me between the rainbow horse and the aristocrat's horse in the midst of tastes of energy pop and mosquito chomps?

I draw nearer now to remind you.

There's a group social occasion, and you haven't seen me yet. You're in the middle of waving in tractors and excavators, and I know such is the idea of progress — that sluggish islands become event congregations that become retreats with wine bars and two-room manors — however for fuck's sake...the merry go round? Isn't anything hallowed?

The earthmover pulls in to begin the work, and I draw nearer once more. Stand right behind you. Inhale you in. You don't resemble skittles any longer, just cigarettes and lifeless brew and treachery. Furthermore, as they begin to analyze our merry go round, I keep thinking about whether you can smell me as well. Like soddenness in the steamy air.

You examine behind you, eyes coated and uninterested as you look directly through me. I draw nearer still.

Do you recollect when you said you were leaving? How you took me to the merry go round and let me know your daddy was sending you away? That you had no way out. What's more, how I shouted at you? Cried. Implored you to take me with you, similar to you generally guaranteed...

Our merry go round is in pieces now, and I'm crying once more. Or on the other hand is it pouring? You look behind you a subsequent time. Still don't see me.

"Everything alright, chief?" A kow-tower is looking concerned. Perhaps he's heard the disintegration tales how they're all adage the new hotel will essentially disintegrate into the ocean. You grin. Console him with that hole toothed smile. "All is great."

Do you recall when you let me know that equivalent thing? Everything will be OK. You were lying, and I knew it.. I realized you were leaving and never returning, and that I would be stuck here. Trapped in the wet season. Furthermore, how you left the merry go round as I came unraveled? Left me in the shadows of that metal burial ground. Left me broken and lamenting those unremarkable long periods of sun and sand, and you and me.

Also, how I pursued you in the obscurity. Stumbled over the aristocrat's horse in the wet. Arrived with a nauseating CRACK!...

The merry go round is gone at this point. Nothing left of the amazing old young lady yet the substantial piece she sat on — the one your daddy had his laborers lay not long after they found my body, my neck broken like commitments made among fiberglass ponies. A fast concealment to stay away from any terrible exposure.

"Should we pull up the substantial, would that be a good idea?" the kow-tower inquires.

The downpour begins to fall. A chill slices through the stale air. What's more, I keep thinking about whether you can smell my bones, actually covered under the sand.

"No," you answer.

Also, as the unavoidable tempest sets in over the island, and you get ready to leave again, I hold you to your commitment.

I inhale you in once more. Append myself to you. To skin and nerve and muscles, long lethargic. You can't shake the briskness. The sodden. I mount you like a merry go round pony, and you are harnessed and bound to my will. Also, presently, my affection, to the stars. To the central area. To anyplace yet here.