heading home

sometimes the carnival
loses its appeal
like when I leave
the field o'plenty
with empty hands,
or when I stare
at the empty doorway,
remembering her silhouette;
sometimes the rides
are no longer much fun,
and of course you know
that the games
are all rigged,
just time-killers
while you wait,
ironically,
for the line to grow shorter
for the rides;
stale popcorn,
sticky fingers,
and a swirling head:
time go home.



June 22, 2009.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All right reserved.