Drunk girls, I've decided
have the same appeal
as parking lot carnivals.
What, with their squeaky
merry-go-rounds and poorly
constructed Ferris wheels.
And I, having paid my
admission, assume that
the bright lights and
cotton candy are for me,
that where there is
laughter and balloon animals
there is a certain peace,
but I, like many drunk men
have never stayed long enough
to see the carnival end,
to see the carnival workers
with their long faces and leather hands,
picking up the crumbling party,
welding, screwing, gluing it together,
hoping it holds so that no one gets hurt.
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1 comment:
i like this one.
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