A continuation of a conversation with my osteopath
On why things seemed outta whack
I went to the fair with the kids.
We did it all.
All the fun things that spun.
And those that spun really quickly
And those that spun and tilted nauseatingly quickly
And those that spun and tilted nauseatingly quickly while shaking.
Everything was rough.
Everything was cash.
Fifty dollars for tickets,
Forty dollars for games.
Ten dollars for popcorn and cotton candy,1
One hundred dollars and what do I have to show for it but a teenage son with an eight inch stuffed sloth and a really sore neck.
There were bright lights, loud noises, chaos and carnies.
Everyone was working the audience for a dollar.
From the ferris wheel I delighted in how the street performer made jokes about ‘the money part’ of the relationship even as the crowd was forming.
We spun forwards and backwards on composted plastic and dubious mechanicals.
And by dubious mechanicals, I mean the rides.
I just as easily could have been referring to the carnies.
I go to fairs and carnivals whenever I get the chance, where ever I happen to be…
