Sucker
$8 for entry, $30 for 22 tickets,
but we should’ve bought armbands, they’re $35 for unlimited rides.
I was suckered out of it, I guess,
though suckered by no one but myself.
my gaze quivers from ride to ride,
all towering against the smoky stratus.
I’m suckering myself out of them,
but I’ll entertain a few.
the first is the rollercoaster,
a shivering little steel thing.
the second (and last) is the swing;
metal porchswings,
spinning through space on their tether,
narrowly dodging a basswood tree every time.
I extend my feet down in an attempt to brush them against the leaves.
by the time the second ride’s done,
I’m out of the 22 tickets I was sharing with a friend.
I get bored watching the others ride rides
I probably wouldn’t want to ride anyways,
so I decide I want to win a goldfish,
but I don’t- I win two.
they’re sitting in a bowl on my dresser now,
but I only treated enough water for them to fill it halfway.
they’re swimming near the top,
mouths gaping at the line where
bowl half-full becomes bowl half-empty,
and I think they’re getting bored with it.
2 thoughts on "Sucker"
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I love this! It really captures how the everyday is so poetic and so many of us struggle to see that in the moment
I like the way the pace sliws down at the end. It feels true to the subjuct–that frantic carnival feel, then unwinding at home.