the carousel

I picked a white horse.
she seemed heroic,
strong.
her black eyes gleamed
with polished paint
in the low
river of sunlight.
her mane blew in the wind,
imagined, as
carefully I mounted her
hollowed body,
I locked my
feet into the stirrups,
gripped the reins.
I yelled out, giddy up.
the man at the controls
smiled, one tooth
black gapped on his weary
face, then hit the switch.
around and around we went
as the music played.