When I finally said yes to him he couldn’t stop telling me how incredibly ferris wheel, popcorn essential I was. His joy was edge of the moon so I hung with it unsuspecting. No, that’s a Tilt-a-Whirl. I never quite believed it. It was too good, a false mustache. He was a water balloon in my spokes. He wanted to share the hot sand, the lease tern nests, the protected areas, for any reason, for no reason, for every reason but it was cardboard. From the second he walked his armoires in, it was the roller coaster, the pinch mouthed clown. He made me into an object of Hurdy-Gurdy. I was stifled, sweltering. Anything his eyes landed on was the hole into which he threw his own darkness. He could not toss cheerful rings at milk bottles, only oil his toolbox, nuts and bolts, leaving junkyard trails. Once I stood under the shower of him. He could only spit rust, shave ice. Taking a leaf from his book, I hid in the gondola, nailed my self shut. Dirt spilled out of my seams and onto the ticket holders. I would take all the blame if I thought it would change anything but this time it was his own abandoned carnival that emptied my Razz-Ma-Tazz. Boy, can you get stucco.
