Ghost Train.

If life were like a theme park ride

It would have to be the ghost train:

You're kind of excited but the tracks

Look rickety and ill-maintained.

Still you pay and get on anyway.

At first there is excitement, anticipation,

But soon the props all look too fake,

Not creepy or scary but pale imitations

Of horror clichés. So you begin to feel

A false sense of security, easing into the kitsch

Of it all, laughing at the scratchy peels

Of manic laughter, as the carriage pitches

Left and right amid screams and spider webs.

Then a deeper, darker fear begins to grow

As you sense the ride itself might be unsafe

And at any minute your vehicle being towed

By chains and winches might suddenly deviate

From its course, jump its tracks, trapping

You in a derelict crypt full of empty cans

Of fluorescent green paint, candy wrappers,

Rubber spiders, plywood walls sprayed black

Hiding crazed carnival workers watching

Your every move through discreetly drilled holes

Waiting for pieces of prop to fall from above and

Stove in your skull - all of it out of your control.

Once you are on the ride you are at the mercy

Of its mechanism, like everyone else, so no one cares

About your dimly expressed fears for your wellbeing.

This is the source of both our ecstasy and nightmares.

© shaun patrick green 2011