Your anger strikes me like a knife –
A hot shard you like to wield
To slice beneath my very soul –
A pain I cannot shield.

You curse at me and taunt me
When you feel you’re in the right.
You accuse me of misdealings
When the sign is plain in sight.

Your little daughter standing there,
Her eyes as wide as stone
As mommy uses such bad words…
She’d rather be alone.

Still, I’ll smile as I tell you
Once more the rules of the game.
But you’d rather throw things at me
And call me everything but my name.

Why stand there and argue
Over the cost of a dollar toy?
Have you forgotten your small child
Before the troops, you did deploy?

You call me trash and filthy
As though born in Hell’s own mire.
You call me crook and criminal
And nothing but a carnie liar.

I cannot appease your common sense…
Your daughter tugs your sleeve.
You’ve scared her into hiding
And she begs you to just leave.

But you continue on your rant
Trying to steal from my own game.
That balloon you busted was a Small.
So what if the prize is lame?

You’ve paid for an experience
To give to your little girl.
To throw a dart and when a prize…
Now she’s frightened of this world.

You’ve taught her to yell and curse
When things just weren’t her way.
Yet, I must smile and mind my words
Why are you even on the Midway?

You’ve stopped the crowd right to a halt…
All eyes are upon you now.
You’ve the spotlight in a world of lights
With such anger creasing your brow.

Sorry ma’am, don’t play the game
If you think you’re going to be gypped.
Where are some marks’ common sense…
I think that they’ve all flipped.

Your little girl will grow up now
And take this lesson to her grave.
To be prejudiced and hateful
So a single dollar she can save.

She’ll be short tempered to the fuse
And quick to rue the day.
Such people ruin the fun and joy
For others on life’s midway.

©May 21, 2007 Lori S. Maynard “The Carnival Poet”