feverish, sweaty palms in control of the rollercoaster,
spinning wildly, spinning randomly,
whirling, sickening, vomit stains the sidewalk from the last kid
that got thrown from the ride,
still dizzy all this time later, still thinking they’re in control
the rain keeps me inside
because i don’t want to get wet,
the rain keeps me,
because i don’t know how to forget its name
just because there’s dirty dishes in my sink overnight
doesn’t mean i haven’t figured out my life out yet,
but that isn’t to suggest i have,
i was just hoping that you might lend me some slack
for a moment
while i go through the motions of figuring out what’s this all about
Fred Aiken Writing