The Harlequin Windmills His Fingers by Paul Tristram

… and the strangling tension Snaps!
We’re in amongst the jostling Fairground crowd,
searching for gaps, elbow-room to pry through,
people-mazed in, but pushing forwards,
even if it’s sideways for a time.
She’s carrying ‘It’ inside her breast pocket,
and was last seen exiting The Ghost Train.
It’s so hard to pick up a scent,
when everything smells like hamburgers,
sweet candyfloss and sticky toffee-apples.
The rippling half moon above,
momentarily distracts me,
as I fight off another pickpocket,
whilst zigzagging past the Penny Arcade.
Circumnavigating the teddy bear carriers,
and the slightly swinging bags of single goldfish…
I’m suddenly deafened by the screeching Twister
as it comes, at speed, sky-sliding sideways into view,
before jettisoning off, and away, at an impossible angle.
Until, at last, I spy her, crouching low
by the side of the second lot of Bumper Cars,
not yet caught, and completely alone.
I scramble up one side of The Waltzers,
and then down the other side of The Easy Rider…
before loose-stone and mud-sliding in for the prize.

paul smoking - Copy

Paul Tristram is a Welsh writer who has poems, short stories, sketches and photography published in many publications around the world, he yearns to tattoo porcelain bridesmaids instead of digging empty graves for innocence at midnight; this too may pass, yet. Buy his books ‘Scribblings Of A Madman’ (Lit Fest Press) ‘Poetry From The Nearest Barstool’ at And a split poetry book ‘The Raven And The Vagabond Heart’ with Bethany W Pope at You can also read his poems and stories here!

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