Carousel
When the last families have gone home
And the girl who takes tickets has left
For her next job scooping ice cream
At the Union Dairy, the painted horses
Come alive, writhing on their poles,
Not in pain but in relief at being free
After having to remain so still all day,
Like women stretching after modeling
For the painter who doesn’t pay them
Enough. No one has ever seen them
Move. Sometimes lovers will wander
Through the park at dusk but the horses
Sense they’re there and grow still.
When they’re sure no one’s around,
They step down from the carousel
And graze on the dark park grass.
By morning they’re back on their poles,
Ready to be ridden. The only thing
That changes from day to day is how
Open their long-lashed eyes are,
By which certain children gauge
How tired they’re feeling and adjust
Their glee accordingly.