state of confusion
The Clown Ride
Itís a private ride in an exclusive park,
but it is not amusing.
Reservations are required.
Many people take this trip
at one time or another,
some more than once.
The kids wonít beg to ride this roller coaster,
they wonít like this one at all.
But theyíll be there.
Sitting right behind you.
Asking when it will stop.
It ainít Mr. Toadís Wild Ride.
While coasting briefly at the top,
everything seems alright,
but itís a fast trip back down.
Slow clickity clack on the uphill track,
Whoosh of sound, coming back down.
I know that this ride has an end,
It must. Iíve made a promise that it does.
After several revolutions,
No, my friend of same last name,
we canít let go, mid curve.
All we can do is hold on,
chip away at the answers,
until this clown runs out of steam.
© 2000 Corinne Bailey
(in case I'm being too obtuse, this poem is about divorce)