A Wigwam for a Goose's Bridle

I remember the roller coaster
that was that fortnight; the buzz bar
down and locked in position, a jolt
to my inertia as I am carried 
up the lift hill, and the potential 
energy of anticipation builds - 
there is no longer any turning back.
I thought we were in the same carriage,
and yet your reply showed that we were not. 
That first drop felt like a free fall,
and now I could almost swear
you dropped me deliberately 
just so that you could catch me
and assure me the carriage had remained
on the track at all times.
But then the banked turn into a helix, 
before loops, and rolls that jar even 
hardcore amusement park patrons;
the whiplash hurts - one moment 
I have never been so sure of anyone’s intentions,
the next you were not ready 
to hear me speak what I thought we both knew,
but that was just the pre-drop
and moments later as I ready myself 
to slink off into the shadows,
tail between my legs, you tell me
I may have what I requested,
raising me up so that I can be plunged
again into the twisted confusion 
of your mixed messages,
and it is only later as I am slowed by the brake run
that I notice the rickety construction
and realise the safety checks were never completed. 


This poem was written on April 1 in response to Kristina Mahr's TTPD Challenge.