The painted horse went round and round,
spinning to the calliope’s tinny sound.
She looked out at her parents’ smiles,
forgot the night-times for a while.
She wanted it to never end,
the painted horse her only friend.
For a time she could forget
the drinking, violence, uttered threat.
Happiness was a string of tickets,
her dad bought at the grated wicket:
ticket to a land of dreams
where she forgot those night-time screams.
Its big brown eye, its painted smile,
escape for just a little while;
her eyes of blue, wondering and sad -
she waved each time she passed her dad.
She dreamed, she dreamed
of a real horse with kind eyes
in a green field,
and a white house of peace
in the background,
so pretty it was almost real.
for Shay's prompt at Fireblossom Friday: Ticket