Carousel

The Carousel is wicked.

God-damn the Carousel, I say.

I saw first the pageantry,

Painted horses on display.

The maidens crafted on the post

Beckoned me to play.

My father stood beside me,

He is strong and kind and wise,

I have my mother’s temperament,

But I have my father’s eyes.

He guided me to the structure,

His hand encasing mine,

He ushered me, “Get on, my dear,

We haven’t got much time.”

I picked a pretty pony,

A black stallion, strong and true

But, soon as I sat on her back,

She turned a sickly hue.

The ride began to turn,

The children cheered and sang,

But I did not, because I found

The ride began to change.

“Father,” I cried out,

But I could not find his face,

“Please let me off of this right now,

I want to leave this place.”

The ride continued moving,

The children began to cry,

I could not see the behind me,

So I could not find out why.

The girl beside me reached out,

I stretched to find her hand,

But the space between us had grown

In a way I could never understand.

So on went my sweet Sappho,

As her steed began to wrench,

Soon she tipped right off of it,

And broke her pretty neck.

I screamed now,

“Father, please! Help us, help us all!”

I heard the drop of little bodies

As they all began to fall.

I looked down beside me,

Where Sappho once had lain,

But gone was she, and soon would be

The others who’d been slain.

I cried no more for father,

For I knew he’d left us all,

I only waited for my turn,

I was ready for my fall.

Soon my horse began to shake,

My grip began to ease,

I took the plunge, and tasted blood,

And hoped for sweet release.

So heed my tale of horror,

Know it all and know it well,

And when our father urges,

Don’t get on the Carousel.