carnival swings

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.

line count: 30