As a child she gazed at the penny lions, slotted metal creatures that disappeared behind hidden folding doors. The scene was made merry by the bulbs that lined the viewing window, illuminating the arcade:
Eggs glowing warmly, a carnival dream
with calliope score and
dashed with kaleidoscope measures,
a panorama edged by death.
Soon this stage would become nothing, a dusty relic in the collection of some fantastically wealthy Long Island queen.
The empty field, trampled grass.
(Nothing and alone)