Remain Seated

Remain seated, please  
do not raise up your arms
do not lift the bar
the warning signs
are bright, red, white, old, old, and old.
The ride is about to begin.

I heard this tale once,
a boardwalk tale
The Great Dipper, one
of the oldest roller coasters—
white planks of wood
crisscrossed, arches of lattice,
the kind used in June Weddings,
The time; The forties:
There was a sailor,
and his girl.
They rode the Great Dipper
it roared like
a 1908 earthquake,
red train on white tracks
spitting like
a chinese dragon.
To impress his girl,
to show her how brave,
to prove
to show
to give
so she would know
how far he was willing to go
he stood up.
Arms high, exuberant, free,
he surrendered.
The train dropped, dipped and turned
(Like they do)
SNAP! WHIRL! fwump.
His head popped,
like a bottle of cheap champagne
on a hot day,
soared into the air,
a bride’s bouquets of
coordinated flowers,
his smile still
pressed to his face,
and landed in a lady’s lap—
sitting in the last car
(the head always lands in the
laps’ of ladies in the last car).

Oh how I feel when
loving you
like this Great Dipper
rattling
the entire world shaking.
There will always be some fool
that want’s to impress
and love is blind
unable to read the
red, white, old, old and old signs.
You’d think by now
they’d write the warnings
in braille.
Of course, I can’t
help but feel bad
for the schmuck
in the last seat
left alone and covered in
a mess.