I’m told the cheapest way to eat
is to be clever with a Six Flags meal plan.
Seems worth a try. Complicating things
is the fact that Six Flags closed in 2007
but I’ll figure it out. Maybe I’ll even see
Aunt Pat while I’m there, or Prince.
Being the past, I’ll know my way around
pretty well. I’ll know the right time
to walk right onto the Big Dipper.
It’ll be an afternoon whose only thrill
is a bumpy drop down a hill
I’ve screamed down before,
before the hill becomes termite
and drone fodder. One of those
summers Holly worked in Mascots.
I’ll choose that one and wonder
if she’s Bugs or Tweety or Speedy
Gonzales that day or what she’s
wearing under there or if she’ll ever
decide she wants to give me a chance.
She didn’t. I didn’t know that then.
I’ll still wonder as I walk towards
the hot dog stand in the shadow
of the Double Loop, pausing
to look closely at Elmer Fudd, ready
to surrender to one of life’s joys:
eating something unremarkable for free.
Sated on something sad, I’ll tear ass
on my Target bike across a parking lot
the size of a subdivision to a house
where my parents still live.