Carnivale of Cruelty

The tinny music
grates my ears,
as monkeys in coattails crank
their music boxes.

The carnies shout half hearted heckles at me,
their voices warring with the circus clangs.
These words are wasted poetry
lying dead
among the paths of dancers,
flying feet grounded,
past last call.

The smell of exotic rarities
waft from every direction,
mingling with the muddy ground
and horse shit.

The lights dazzle
blinking in a cacophony of epileptic cheer.
The patterns becoming an alliteration
of movement.

I drag my polka dotted plushy prize
through the chicken bones
and caramel corn
caked in the spilt wine
on the pavement,
escaping to my car.

Tomorrow I’m going to win
the goldfish.