The Fun Fair
 
The fun fair was here that spring.
In the shock that was daylight
I travelled around it in the park
on a slow, two-footed carousel.
I discovered some little white tourers
guarded by blue calor gas cylinders.
Noctural minds were busy sleeping
and the rides, dead to this world,
awaited a nighttime switch into
a luminescent zombie resurrection.
 
We watched it from our window
and the people on their rides,
some were scary, some were fun.
A melody of crashing emotions
fed by the chorus of their screams.
 
It was here again that autumn,
the same tourers and their guards,
the same people and their rides
but you stayed in your armchair
while I watched it from our window.
 
The fun fair was here this spring.
I watched it from my window
and the people on their rides,
some were scary, some were fun
like the last ones we had shared.
A memory of crashing emotions
fed by the chorus of my screams.

Susan Wilson

If you have any thoughts about this poem,  Susan Wilson  would be pleased to hear them