Dark Ride

Simon MacCulloch

The sun is going swimming in tomato soup

The sea is going sighing to her restless night.

Above the rotting pilings where the cold gulls swoop

The funfair glimmers softly in the pale pink light.

The ghost train will be stopping after one last ride

The neon memories beckon - won’t you step inside?

The barker takes your money with a pointless wink

The place is almost empty and of that you’re glad

For children and their parents would be sure to think

This late and lonely traveller was a little mad

A gaunt unpartnered loser with some time to kill

Still searching for reminders of a childhood thrill.

The cars start crawling round along their rattling track

The demons pop out howling and their eyes flare green

The incandescent horrors make the black more black

The deepest kind of darkness that you’ve ever seen.

That same old slimy darkness where the cobwebs hid

The things the man who took you in the first time did.

It’s time to block the wheels - you’ve learned that trick so well

And soon the man is creeping down the track behind

A Dante plunging guideless in your personal hell

Bemoaning all the glitches he expects to find.

And then it’s over quickly, there’s an end to life

Which doesn’t mean you’re finished with your long, sharp knife.

The sun is rising swiftly, it’s a fine new day

The sea is far behind you for another year

Another shabby ghost ride has a fresh display

To show the frightened children how to conquer fear

By carving up their demons when they clutch and bite

And following all the tunnels to the end of night.

Simon MacCulloch lives in London. His poetry has appeared in Reach Poetry, The Dawntreader, Emberr, The Chamber Magazine, Grim and Gilded, Aphelion, Ekstasis and others.