Ferris Wheel

We swung above
the broccoli tops,
the white steeple,
and the bank's brick façade
on Eucalyptus Street.

Our gondola stopped,
suspended in air.
We both saw the people, small as toys.
Yet my friend didn't notice
the wraiths of mortality
chasing the people; how those people
were losing each other.

We both saw
the grand steeple,
yet I fixated on the demon
leaping from it.

We both admired
the town's huge old oak tree,
but I saw the tree's contorted
grimace.

I turned, and eyed the sheer delight
of my friend, his eager face and his true, kind smile.
He became the sun
and banished the day's darkness.

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Heather Sager lives in Illinois, USA. Her most recent poetry appears in Version (9), The Orchards, Magma, ActiveMuse, Bluepepper, Fahmidan Journal, Red Eft, The Bosphorus Review of Books, Shabd Aaweg Review, and more. Her recent fiction appears in The Fabulist and elsewhere.