Merry-Go-Round Poem by Morgan Michaels

It goes nowhere, finally,
at circle's end
electing journey over destination.

The melody, as well, recurs,
sounding more and more familiar
till, finally, you stop humming
or even listening.

You can spot the first timers, really-
they hold on tight, laugh, wave,
and while most decide
to head on to another ride,
a few think it fine
to go up and down, up and down
on the same trusty steed,
the same rusty steed, in the same pale air,
feet out flung, eyes rolled back, nostrils flared
forever-
galloping everywhere and nowhere.