Darlington Station

Whizzing round and round

so fast you feel elongated

stretched and trapped in its endless

gyrating circle.

 

Halos about the horses’ heads

slipping off the saddle,

the metal frosty between your legs

Squeezing hard for dear life.

 

Eyes tight shut

you fly to that ghastly jangling sound.

Faster, teeth clenched,

clinging to the chipped purple mane.

 

For a moment

you spin motionless.

 

A power cut.

 

And looking about you now,

you wonder

 at your own foolish desire. 

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