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Rated: E · Poetry · Family · #2297921
My grandma hit her head when she was five and never rode again
The coaster was wooden and broken down
From the dawn of the century, the pre-car time
My grandma, a little girl when that carnival came
Sat beside her sister and got change for a dime

Up the coaster went - no height requirement then
And my kindergartener grandma held her sister’s hand
And asked her, “Nora, why aren’t you afraid?”
And her older sister said she wouldn’t understand

And the rickety coaster sped up, and Nora squealed
Delighted with speed like an ice skater on a river
And threw her head high in the air, looking over
At Vikki just as the overhang swung down and hit her

Vikki was fine, eventually, but being five, it was elementary
That she would fear roller coasters even at age 70.
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