after twenty long minutes
of interminable waiting
in a cacophony
of excited exclamations
and tired wails,
I’m next.
swing lifts.
around we go
no more than two feet away,
just past a finger’s touch,
but too far
for conversation--
if anyone was talking
instead of shrieking.
tasting funnel cakes
on my breath,
smelling popcorn
on every breeze,
I sit and sway,
eyes closed,
an island,
a fortress,
a bubble
of peace against
crowd roars
and flashing lights.
swing stops.
I rise
take my place in line
and wait to ride again.
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