Three dollars, three minutes,
the barker tempts. Tilt-a-Whirl
spins us against its cylinder wall,
girls scream, guys try to muscle
their arms, no one can move legs.
It tilts, brings nausea. Eyes open,
eyes shut, doesn’t matter – stomach
floats in throat.

The solstice is so much easier.
Spinning a thousand miles an hour
is like standing still. Nothing
at our back except atmosphere
to keep us upright. Too many chili dogs
and beer trouble our stomach,
but not the spinning and tilting
under our feet.

Vacation will comes for school kids,
sun warms the sand and our bare feet,
strawberries pop red among low green leaves,
tomatoes plump for picking, and the fair
comes to the vacant lot.

Do you feel the tilt
shift, go the other way?
The warm days will shorten
now, a little diminishment
every day. Hurry, hurry,
the barker calls, Take the ride
of your life.