Carny Casualty

A braided beauty in aztec-patterned high-top shoes,
reverses back against a boy in blue. 
Daggering to the bump of sound system bass,
She leans too far forward and topples on her face.
She’s a five-star carny casualty.

Six tiny-looking girls inhale matching blue balloons,
A collective breath is taken until the break-down in the tune.
Metallic shells accumulate like London pigeon shit,
Rapidly she’s down there too, the tarmac took the hit.
A top-notch carny casualty.

Saliva in his mouth vibrates around the gums,
Arms thrash, feet stamp to the Soca drums.
He’s hyper-wild and frenzied, up on all his toes,
Before it splatters on the concrete and puke comes out his nose.
It’s a highly-rated carny casualty.

He’s morphed into a jellyfish, vertical is a long-lost cause,
Marshmallow, lint and cloud scraps, airborne but on all fours.
It doesn’t look too graceful,
West London would think it distasteful.
But fuck that – he’s a first-class carny casualty!