But he hates water rides. He wants each plunge
to start a new life, but this river just slaps the tunnel curves.
Weak, wet echoes of old mistakes.
His flume slides around like a manic Mallard without a grip,
like his pond turned to ice, like he lost his sweet ducklings.
Where the hell are we going? Pendulum hates careening out of control.
He likes a metronome click, but his boat won’t track.
He gets back in line, again, drips all morning.
Photo by Iker Urteaga on Unsplash