The Ferris Wheel

We all take turns on the broken ferris wheel,

hoping beyond hope the cables do not give,

the structure retains its integrity, every screw

and spigot oiled and tightened, at the ready.

Steady now, it tips towards the sun,

its many teeth swinging along in silhouette

against the empty sky. It whines. It rattles on its hinges.

A red, white and blue axis of rims and spokes,

a hydraulic web designed by a man-child

who liked to draw circles and lines.

And people. Between steel soldered to steel,

best friends, newlyweds, fathers and sons

sit with their hearts racing, their thighs braced

against the evening chill, shoulder to shoulder,

arm in arm, dipping and rising into the night,

hoping beyond hope that they touch ground

eventually, that the thrill of being thrust towards heaven

does not end with a snapped wire, a rusty bolt or nail,

human error or bad luck. So they laugh because

they’re drunk on love, because gravity tickles their diaphragm,

because others are laughing and somebody is screaming,

and because that’s what humans do when they’re scared.

© Copyright 2012 Armine Iknadossian

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