Tilt-A-Whirl

Standard

Diamond-plated steps,

peeling paint,

and a cardboard ruler

demonstrating the height requirement.

Pewter pistons,

hidden hinges

standing cushions,

eroded by time

and centrifugal force.

Blinking lights all around the ridges

and a long line of patrons

brandishing bracelets

soft drinks,

plush prizes

and crumpled tickets.

The ride spins,

blinking like a UFO,

ready to launch

and fly faster than light,

but it never gets off the ground.

You stumble around,

pretty dizzy,

ready for the next thrill.

“One more time?”

she says.

Your hair is mussed,

from the last six times,

she asked.

“Why not,”

you say,

while turning about face,

to stand single-file

once more.