Funfair

We thought it might be fun so paid our fee,
And dawdled through the booths enough to see
That time had not stood still but had reversed
To childhood thrills and fears, all interspersed
With raucous music, garish tawdry tat
And all those lurid snacks that make you fat.
The fun, if such it be, is in the now
And filled with piercing shrieks and shouts of Wow!
As broken columns signify a death,
That funfair hoarding sighed its final breath,
Expiring half way through that clichéd text
To leave us free to choose our where to next.

 

© 2017 Peter Young

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