Under the silken tent

small white mice

rode little pink bikes

The ringmaster dressed in black

Tapped his staff against the trunk

of the pirouetting elephant named Ella

Who wore a blue tutu and danced like a ballerina

The boys that ran the rides

white tee shirts with rolled up sleeves

a pack of Luckies held inside

Always tanned, dirty shoes and jeans

yet somehow enticing

The Whip dizzying, stomach churning

I knew he spun me more than the others

I waited for him to undo the bar to let me out.

Thanks for the ride what’s your name?

Name’s Ray

I circled around the gates.