Safe at Home Under Carny Lights

Working under carny lights
they practice ceremonial rights
of passage; coupons offered
and services rendered
for money finely tendered.
~
There is a place among machines
where bygone deeds are superfluous
to the trade; jobs offered
and services rendered
for refuge freely tendered.
~
Where who you are is
of no consequence to the night;
and old steel turns around the touch
of a lever; lights so bright
and yet so dull and ancient
that their very bones creak and groan
your name in slow revolutions.
~
You can see the revulsion
and the pity in their eyes
as they offer their tickets
to your waiting hand, and yet
your warm steel mother holds you
tight against her breast.
~
You suckle greedily because
you hunger for her touch.
Her. She.
The mother of flesh and blood
and bones that does not rock you
in her arms.
~
You would weep, but -
~
- SHE holds you now.
The carnival embraces your hungry heart;
pounding it's rhythm into
your blue-veined hands, and you grasp
the lever greedily and push.
~
Painted steel goes around and around
and all their pretty children are laughing.
You are exultant, for they are laughing with joy.
Glee. Mirth.
They will not laugh at you
while your Mother, hard and proud,
is firmly, but gently, holding your hand.