Here’s another bit of poetry I wrote back when I was forced to do so in that creative writing course I took in college (you can see a couple of other entries here).
This is one in a series of poems I wrote using the title The Ride. Put together, the set of poems was like a concept album in handy text form. Or something. This ride is not as terrible as some of the others but it should provide some evidence as to why I did not go on to become a poet. It’s a love letter to the rollercoaster. Maybe one day I’ll try reworking it sometime to see if my poetic terribleness has changed with age.
The Ride (number eight)
Wooden girders challenge
dare, invite
I cannot resist.
There is a certain smell here
Something faint and not easily determined
Cotton candy wispy, its sweet scent
catching the breeze and riding away
Corn dogs and greasy tacos, a trace of dust
peeling up off hot pavement
and into my face
Memories of others who have stood here
fifty years before.
I queue up, handing a rumpled ticket
that has spent too long in my pocket
A boyfriend squeezes his girl,
laughing as she shudders
A spandex suit with a woman poured in
giggles with apparent excitement
A gang of boys, each trying to outdo
each other with trendy clothes and
unique mousse stylings, declare their
lust for the ride; this is the tenth
time they’ve been here today.
I step up to the gate and watch
as a train pulls in, its passengers
whooping and screaming and swooning
and laughing and sitting utterly still
with no expression at all.
The gate opens and I bravely slide into
the front seat. The woman in spandex
squirms in beside me and a
padded metal bar locks on our laps.
There is no escape.
The train clatters out of the station
and turns to the first hill.
A chain takes hold and we are tilted back,
lifted toward the sky.
An indefinable moment exists
when the train reaches top
There is no feeling of movement,
no sound as the car is released
from the chain
Only the sky, completely clear,
neither far nor near
Then my stomach lurches upward
and I let my arms fly
My tuckus rises out of the seat
and I wonder why people do this
But I know why.
The sensation is reversed going
back up; my organs bob in confusion
What have we done to deserve this abuse?
Wind roars and the car trembles,
seemingly more frightened than its occupants
as it lifts and falls, turns and
hurtles into deep valleys
All too soon it ends.
Distant and not so distant screams
whistle away, the train breathes more calmly
and we are back in the station.
A uniformed and geeky sixteen year old,
blessed only by a lack of acne, quickly
motions us away.
The spandex woman is babbling incoherently.
I think she liked the ride.
She asks if I want to go again.
My endorphins answer for me
and we queue up for another go.
