Fairground Nights (Poetry)
15th July 2012
Dead in the windless August afternoon — deserted
apart from a surly few
bored-looking youths who lounged about
or tinkered with their true-love cars
cigarettes bobbing at the corners of mouths
and their James Dean stares
giving us the once over
as they passed low comments
that we didn’t quite catch
as we pouted pretty and strolled on past
between the closed-up stalls
where a couple of stick-legged mongrels
nosed through litter
and fat black cables linked
generator to ride — snaking rubber through
the bruised and tyre-tracked grass.
So quiet and sudden — a ramshackle city
of summer entertainment that stretched
shabby in the watery sunlight
it had filled up half the park
in just a morning’s work —
the road-grimed trailers curtained now —
siesta time the lull
before the wild electric storm.
Evening saw the punters trickle in
drawn by music and the gathering of energies —
the magnetic pulse that thrilled and shook
both air and ground — the tremble of the waltz
its grind and clash machinery boomed out
like this was some mad overture — a taste
of opera — a drama set to noise.
Dusk came late — then night transformed the show
colours raged and volume rolled itself
around the rides like a hollering Norse God
driven light-bulb-crazy as the wooden horses reared
and plunged their painted gold
in time to tunes — their organ-grinder repertoire
of ritual performance — all the while we rode
in mercenary armies — a weekend plague
of goodtime girls —
bold in the fever of our age.
By now the afternoon’s bored-looking youths were grinning
gum-chewing princes in disguise
who jumped from sparking chariot to chariot
heroes in torn Levis and fancy cowboy boots
their smiles a come-on under domes
of giddy lights that shone hot above us
showbiz harsh and gaudy
the toffee apple scented power play
drugged us — drove our naive hearts to flutter —
cheeks to flush.
Fireworks — and amidst the fizzle and the bangs
of the finalé — a few rough kisses
with a hint of danger in them
then we broke away — feigning indifference
before the gang could lock around us —
forge maybe a stronger spell that made
their trashy dazzling world more real than ours...
And so we left that darkened paint-chipped city
with its haunted castle closed and free of screams
horses sleeping with eyes open, nostrils flared
shapes and shadows frozen
and thick tarpaulin covering the rifle range
streams of rubbish converging to a dry shallow moat
of hotdog wrappers, paper cups and pink-stained sticks
from candy floss circling the site
complete with a dead goldfish in the grass —
a prize whose fragile watery globe had split...
...walking home, our shared excitement dissipating
the way anticipation fades and leaves
a hollow that needs something to fill it
so we concocted tales to tell our friends —
exaggerations of the way it really was —
the boys we met — resurrecting the thrill
of a few reckless moments that became
a romance-tinted out-of-focus fantasy
to compensate a little
for what didn’t happen.
apart from a surly few
bored-looking youths who lounged about
or tinkered with their true-love cars
cigarettes bobbing at the corners of mouths
and their James Dean stares
giving us the once over
as they passed low comments
that we didn’t quite catch
as we pouted pretty and strolled on past
between the closed-up stalls
where a couple of stick-legged mongrels
nosed through litter
and fat black cables linked
generator to ride — snaking rubber through
the bruised and tyre-tracked grass.
So quiet and sudden — a ramshackle city
of summer entertainment that stretched
shabby in the watery sunlight
it had filled up half the park
in just a morning’s work —
the road-grimed trailers curtained now —
siesta time the lull
before the wild electric storm.
Evening saw the punters trickle in
drawn by music and the gathering of energies —
the magnetic pulse that thrilled and shook
both air and ground — the tremble of the waltz
its grind and clash machinery boomed out
like this was some mad overture — a taste
of opera — a drama set to noise.
Dusk came late — then night transformed the show
colours raged and volume rolled itself
around the rides like a hollering Norse God
driven light-bulb-crazy as the wooden horses reared
and plunged their painted gold
in time to tunes — their organ-grinder repertoire
of ritual performance — all the while we rode
in mercenary armies — a weekend plague
of goodtime girls —
bold in the fever of our age.
By now the afternoon’s bored-looking youths were grinning
gum-chewing princes in disguise
who jumped from sparking chariot to chariot
heroes in torn Levis and fancy cowboy boots
their smiles a come-on under domes
of giddy lights that shone hot above us
showbiz harsh and gaudy
the toffee apple scented power play
drugged us — drove our naive hearts to flutter —
cheeks to flush.
Fireworks — and amidst the fizzle and the bangs
of the finalé — a few rough kisses
with a hint of danger in them
then we broke away — feigning indifference
before the gang could lock around us —
forge maybe a stronger spell that made
their trashy dazzling world more real than ours...
And so we left that darkened paint-chipped city
with its haunted castle closed and free of screams
horses sleeping with eyes open, nostrils flared
shapes and shadows frozen
and thick tarpaulin covering the rifle range
streams of rubbish converging to a dry shallow moat
of hotdog wrappers, paper cups and pink-stained sticks
from candy floss circling the site
complete with a dead goldfish in the grass —
a prize whose fragile watery globe had split...
...walking home, our shared excitement dissipating
the way anticipation fades and leaves
a hollow that needs something to fill it
so we concocted tales to tell our friends —
exaggerations of the way it really was —
the boys we met — resurrecting the thrill
of a few reckless moments that became
a romance-tinted out-of-focus fantasy
to compensate a little
for what didn’t happen.