Nerve

My tenth poem

(Every experience described in this poem is literally part of my history. The first two sections of this poem recall memories of visiting local theme parks as a young adult. The third section describes recurring dreams I used to have.)

They made me ride the flume.
I knew better but went along.
I climbed into my fiberglass log,
Filled with dread,
Unable to summon a smile.
Gripping the sides with white-knuckled hands.
The slow tortured climb,
Gears grinding and clanking like Jacob Marley’s chains,
Inching above trees and rooftops.
Knowing it wouldn’t matter if I screamed
Or pled;
If I demanded that it STOP
And let me out.
Nothing to be done.
Higher. Higher.
So slow.
Heedless of my helpless state

They made me try the water slide.
Straight up the steps.
Adults and children ahead of me,
Behind me.
Like cattle.
But cattle don’t know what awaits.
I did.
At the summit.
Just sit, slide, get wet.
Easy.
Time to go.
Feeling the impatience behind me.
Too steep.
Couldn’t do it.
Climb back down. NOW.
”Excuse me, sorry, sorry.”
Squeezing past men with sweaty bare shoulders,
Children reeking of sunscreen,
Mothers glaring at being jostled,
Young women in bikinis rolling their eyes.
One more step.
Exhale.
Shame.

I used to dream of flying.
Two dreams, always the same;
Swimming slowly in the air from room to room,
Inches above the floor,
Or sometimes like a human kite,
Catching a puff of wind,
Swooping up,
Weightless,
Exhilarated.
I remember those dreams…
Recurring now and then over many years.
So vivid and real…
My arms straining with the effort of the breaststroke,
Sliding above the carpet…
The shock of soaring suddenly skyward on a breezy gust…
They were a young man’s dreams.
I am no longer young.