Tonight we have grown jaunty on the boardwalk Sighing through our cotton candy whispers Martyring the merry-go-round Mounting its immortal painted horses Over and over again Fooling crafty clowns who ambulate Past lovers on the boardwalk Hiding wrinkles behind painted smiles— These self-proclaimed masters of masquerade! Yet there’s a gold-tinged moonlight Settled in the cracks between the planks; Submerged in sea-green splashes, Splintered from the beat of youthful footsteps, The boardwalk bears the burden of two little heroes; The oceanside grows jealous, Spouting its complaints and waves I apprehend our music in these mermaids Crooning from the cracks between the planks Yet then a little girl runs through Spinning on the Ferris wheel Casting puppet shadows on the boardwalk As her fingers reach the clouds, And soon she is eighteen I’ve always had a weapon— A knife I’ve hidden deep inside its sheath; I’ve spent my evenings at the anvil Crafting mixed-up toys And ammunition Sharpening my blades To wage a mêlée or a sneak-attack But recently I’m drained With every passing moonbeam Streaking through her wispy platinum hair With every wandering bubble That she blows from plastic circles on a stick Your conscience grows nomadic My dignity distends And bursts These male warriors— Sprouting rhizomatic lines over their cheeks Wisdom half-incarnate yet eroticism fledged Dare they take a stance on me? Well, if you run away I’ll give myself to the next traveler Through this carnival of reason Yet amongst these luscious candidates You’ve inherited the luxury of hesitation From the will of the discriminating cosmos And every time I run away I face a battle of diminishing returns On brashness and my aptitude For looking pretty Every Sunday morning, Hunched over the frying pan, I am cracking eggs for breakfast Wondering whether I won’t be that mother hen Pumping out those eggs For boys to eat for breakfast Scrambled, of course (the only way they’ve known to live) At times, I keep the cartons past their expiration dates Until I amble towards the grocery store Buy another dozen Crack them once again For men to eat If now I am restrained Then what might I be in twenty years? In these final days, Before I’ll need to paint my hair just to compete With all the girls turning twenty-one, I have primped and spouted Rhetoric that transcends ages Stuffing up my head with knowledge, money and equations Literary feats and myriads of conversations Yet these beasts that lord over The reign of featherbrained frivolity Are worth much more just for the way Their skin runs smooth over their cheeks As sticks of shiny yellow butter Yet some of them are margarine And in my vacillation I have minced up decades Caught up in this capitalist charade I have bought up pinwheels from the boardwalk Traded up my tickets for a bubblegum pink teddy Stood in line for hotdogs, popcorn, and confections Yet I cannot barter with these little girls Lined up at the pub Dolled up in a little dress at twenty-one Blonde And where was I When I was eighteen and then twenty-one Keeping conscience to myself Along the beach When my propriety was nestled In his hand If only I was blonde with margarine cheeks! Now they can decide! And I am jogging alongside trains No—I am this puny locomotive! And spruced up as a speeding train, I will reach the finish line Without admiring the scenery Flowing towards a bleary origin Where, frail, we will have run our course Yet man is like a rowboat And it is all romantic on the lake There is no sign of gutter on the streets The infrastructure that indicates modernity In civilization’s final days There is an endless orange-purple sunset And girls wait in line to ride on that romantic lake Until we all turn into ugly trains Devoid of passengers And there are no eggs left in the grocery store
An excellent and very meaningful poem that any young woman or person in general could relate to, Liza! I of course don't know the poems meaning for sure. But it sounds to me like you are talking about how life seems like all fun and games or one big adventure to someone is who is little. But then you grow up and become a young adult and you come to see the world for what it is. It also discusses the absurdity and game of keep up appearances a young girl has to do to be accepted and seen as "cool." A little girl is allowed to be herself and like herself but when she becomes a teen or a twenty-something, she has to conform to what she's expected to be. Also, they better find a boyfriend and future husband quick before they get too old and aren't attractive anymore and can't have children anymore. One could apply this to boys and men too just in a bit of a different way as I can to an extent relate to this. Talk about universal themes! You can find so many of them in Carnival!