A Piece of Americana

It pulls you away from that IMAX world
with such conviction that you actually believe
you’re back home, but really
you’re still in Disneyland—well,
California Adventure, the neighbor park—
and you can still smell the oranges hovering
unseen, waiting to be plucked by the next group.
Leaving Soarin’s theater, for some reason
you wished it was dark, lamenting the sunlight
you knew awaited us outside.
But time has a way of speeding up
when you don’t want it to,
like oncoming traffic during an illegal U-turn—
and slowing down while standing in line for excitement,
to the point you could swear the last time
you checked the time it was five minutes later,
and you were by Howard Hughes’ portrait,
and now you’re back at the Spruce Goose
which precedes its kooky creator,
but every once in a while, when you leave
your watch spun on your wrist at your side,
the world speeds its orbit as you wish,
and you step out of the attraction
into the sky in the middle of its shift
from sky to navy, somewhere around cobalt,
and you feel like you’re back at the county fair
with your wife who’s still just your best gal,
and after the roller coaster
you know there’s a plate begging
to be busted by baseball,
and a slice of stuffed Americana
to be won and carried around under the stars—
to be set on the bench next to you
for a slow, tongueless kiss that springs pink
in your cheeks that lasts for hours.

Zebulon Huset is a teacher, writer and photographer living in San Diego. His writing has recently appeared in The Southern Review, The Louisville Review, Fence, Rosebud, Meridian, North American Review, The Cortland Review, Portland Review, Texas Review and Fjords Review, among others. He publishes a writing prompt blog Notebooking Daily with its print companion Notebooking Periodically, and is the editor of the fledgling journal Coastal Shelf.

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