SPARK

Inspiration

On Not Believing the Merry-Go-Round’s One-Eyed Horse

© KJ Hannah Greenberg

The one-eyed horse of the merry-go-round,

Timber valent of midways peripheral to small towns,

Sang like a canary before he got recycled.

Not ‘bout fry fests, bake-offs, or golden-crowned queens,

‘Nere ‘bout darts, dunks, draughts, nor regarding games in between

Rather, he whispered folksy comments.

The wooden laureate, his glory painted with care,

Espoused motes of warnings to revelers who dared

Let their kin wander the fair’s bunged lanes alone.

Nonetheless, many teens, tots, grandpas, cousins, some others,

Heedlessly traipsed far from their aunties, sisters, and mothers;

They meant to exult in machismo.

No neon, no weigh-ins, no snake oil in bottles,

Deterred those y chromosomes, those intent on throttling

The festival’s flirting lumberjack.

Fisticuffs, guns, daggers, plus piss words,

Fell flat, crumbed, remained utterly absurd,

In the face of that colossus.

That giant, a tree trunk, an ax-wielding man,

In the vein of bulls, bricks, boxing champs, weapons since banned,

Demoralized new fellows with a glance.

Meanwhile, his smile, more than money, grace, or home cooking,

Brought the babes to his sphere, plain plus good looking.

Too bad he was built of tin.

Nights, after gaffers locked up all around,

Pulled plugs, fastened stakes, secured the compound,

The cyclops equus snickered to his pewter master.