Funfair Parking Lots

A Ferris wheel pirouetted around your pupils

from a distance and you didn’t want to miss it

from the rain. You became the freight train

piloted off the rails, crashing parking lot puddles

with your steel legs, strutting past the lamp posts

lit with the lunar beams of disaster that have 

enveloped our lives. You landed arms wide

into the wooden fence that separated us from

the carnival. Incandescent blues and reds

dragged lazily across the bridge of your nose,

we palmed our pockets flat in the dark, while

our eyes were like globe lights floating high

above the park that night.

Alec Montalvo is an emerging poet. His work has appeared in Cathexis Northwest Press, The Esthetic Apostle, and featured on the home page of PoetrySoup.com. He lives in Staten Island, New York, where the stars don't shine. Talk poetry with him on his Instagram @AlecInTheInk

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