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Saturn on Saturday Night
This rink ranks right up there.
My power skates, slice each ring,
the scent of ice assails my nose.
Funny in the absence of air, I breathe.
It must be a dream. I don’t care.
The wind of Saturn blows through my hair.
No wind, you say, but I will believe
what this dream gifts to me. Can’t believe
I’ve made it this far. It’s not Mars -
tired of the heat and the bars.
Brightly lit, I see a disco ball in the mist.
I am young again. Giddy boys showing off.
I’m twirling like a pro until I fall
softly onto my fairytale bed,
the one twenty mattresses tall.
I woke up a bit bruised. Saturn
on Saturday night, had no idea,
a princess performed on her rings.
This rink ranks right up there.
Copyright ©
Kim Rodrigues
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