This is the line that circles itself
and the circling ride that moves
forward without getting anywhere.
Dumbo’s smile says holy hell
sixteen times with every turn.
I tell my brother if he loves his thumb so much
he should marry it. Mom’s face
says This is hell. Brother cries,
says he has to go potty. Dumbo’s smile falters;
he’ll be hosed off hard again, and bleached.
A better family passes us, again.
My father towers between the sun and me.
Mom interrogates brother, How long, how long
can you hold it? The show’s about to start.