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?
I circled around the gates.