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POEM: The Launching of the Slingshot Ride

you grip the sides and start to scream with something that is akin to laughter

Ticket taken  take your seat  buckle up and wait

until the roller coaster starts to move you slowly

then ever faster until you grip the sides and start

to scream with something that is akin to laughter

 

but terror’s neighbor whose arm you clutch as up

and almost over and then down you go screaming

whoa wow eyeballs bulging larger than the sockets

will allow like the eyeballs of the ocellated blenny

 

Everyone is screaming so it must be fun

 

as the roller-coaster cars shoot as if rocket-launched

suddenly upward and then stick way up there in thin

air  suspended docked above the expanded landscape

breathless eager for dreading what will happen next

 

before plunging from a height of four-thousand feet

above the ever-rising sea level  then looping up gut-

wrenchingly again until… Dead ahead the final mile

of iron track remains unlaid  owing to the reluctance

 

Lo! The final mile of iron track remains unlaid

 

of the oligarchs to make pledged donations until such

time as they receive assurance that each in turn shall

have a shot  or crack at governing a fractious nation

So the Slingshot flings us howling  into outer Space

 

Who knew? We all bought into the ride

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The Edge Is Free To Read.

But Not To Produce.