Another Little Bastard
Aboard the Ali Baba,
facing the funhouse across the way,
there you sit,
calm, smiling, set
apart from the
As if strapped in Old Sparky,
thrill at the thought of juice.
Carnival lights wink color-
fast haloes around
your pinball head,
as if you’d beam a Buddha blessing
on the non-idolatrous below.
Your legs dangle.
just after you tell me of those
who had theirs sheared clear
off at Six Flags, when a safety band snapped.
Some rip cord.
Turning from watching your brothers in the bumper cars,
I see you spin,
hell in a hand basket,
as if I’m watching a movie
with the sound off.
A James Dean
crash-and-burn at the crossroads.
But there are no accidents.
Head-on this dull-deadened day,
stuffed animals sway on prize hooks.
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FRiGG: A Magazine of Fiction and Poetry | Issue 52 | Fall/Winter 2018