Beetlebung and Kettlehole--April Poems

When Grandpa Took Me to the Fair

It feels like someone else’s life, now,
the day grandpa took me to the fair
when the house was full of guests
celebrating in hairdo helmets
and pinching my cheeks in fakery.
Happily, I was Grandpa’s cover story
and alibi in flight from playing nice,
the same old pretense
repeating without sense at each holiday.

And I, affixed on the swing
with nose full of snot and drowsy,
felt, at arm’s length, his pain
excruciating, his world winding down,
as he, with tightened brows,
weighed the universe
he wanted to save me from,
I, the rebel with cotton candy
and full of tantrums, stunned by
mindless faith recitals.

We were a team, resilient yet in a tizzy,
as grandpa shot at the elephants
in the rooms and I sensed them as if
they were of white-washed plastic
in a deviant kind of carnival,
and as the swing rose high,
I set off a radioactive snort at
the kid near me, with red-pepper face,
taking up too much space.

It feels like someone else’s life, now.

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Prompt: a remembered holiday