(1907 – 1916)
When nothing better bubbled your kiln
you looked for entrance.
Why not? It was safe for you, the
lions only ate women.
You saw castle and carousel
never shades and shadows. She
fastened her belt, endured the scenic
railway until everything throbbed
riot, licked cotton candy while you
twirled the cardboard cone. You said
Shoot the Chute, she said
Temple of Mystery, you
jumped the turnstile
yelling after the trolley.
Desires vanish once you
leave, it’s always different on return.
Rain checks bring ash, perhaps a fond
brief flash, moonstruck girl
breast stroke, mighty Monongahela.
Luna Park first appeared in The Carolina Quarterly (2006).
Poem, copyright © Reb Livingston, 2005
Appearing on the Fishouse with permission
Audio file, copyright © 2006, From the Fishouse