Carnival Rides

Walls of Death ask to
be peered at [leant in
over shoddy welding]

until a howl of breath
then provokes a spin
into a swirl of vertigo

So sleep – sleep alone
[shoot-em-up carnival
clamours don’t count]

In Super 8 minutes of
thrill-rides roll her tale
[fat men turned on by

her lickerish quartets
& spools flicked upon
her jerked-off screen]

Ride & orbit her hoops
painted red & 360-odd
tyre-rattled pine planks

Your fitted door shuts
too tight – no rider will
get out of there [alive]

St Margaret rode on a
Yamaha motorbike – a
2-stroke affair of 49cc

No one dares mention
Acapulco [not drugs or
death of La Quebrada]

You won’t have vitamins
[but you’ll always eat up
fantasy in script & lines]

& motorcycles will idle –
as that next show is set
to rewrite poetic rhyme