I’m struggling
to find the perfect words –
a description faithful and true
to help you
experience
what I
experienced.  

Shall I begin
with the gentleman at the ticket gate
who needed to conference
with a fellow ticket-taker
when I handed him two twenties
for the $36 admission charge,
and he gave me $3 change?  

Or shall I relate the smell
emanating from black pleather shoulder harnesses
and the warm, moist feel
of the metal handles
touched by thousands of people
over the past four days?

 Or maybe
you want to hear about
my moist armpits,
or the streams of sweat
trickling down my back,
or the strands of damp hair
stuck to the back of my neck,
or the swamp ass
I discovered
after sitting in the bumper cars?  

When they tell you
parental love involves selflessness,
these are the nights  
they’re trying to warn you about.