The wait in line, so very long, is building my anxiety.
My stomach wants to crawl into my stiffened spine,
But I won't let the negativity take control of me.
Today, I try to put the fear away as I incline
the ultimate pathway to impending doom.
My breathing, in and out and in and out,
as I am placed at the front. It's way too soon!
They strap me in, desperate to scream and shout,
my voice refuses release. My hands are griping
the handlebars as the moving carts jerk forward.
Jolting putt by putt, the distance is ripping
the ground away from me. We're so high; I see a bird!
We tilt, we plunge, and I scream not from fear
with a smile so wide, and arms raised high to cheer.
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Author's note: Iambic pentameter is a bitch...
