portion of the artwork for Mather Schneider's poem

Drop Tower
Mather Schneider

At the county fair
my wife Anna wanted to go
on the ride you could see
from a mile away,
so the carny strapped us
into our escape pod seats
and lifted us a hundred feet into the air
along the cylinder of rainbows.
At the top we were dolls in the fist
of a god about to sneeze,
legs dangling in the funnel cake air
when the world dropped out from under us and
we found free fall
like children being tickled
to death.
The downward momentum caused an unfamiliar burn
in my prostate
during the five seconds of screaming.
Down on the platform
I unbuckled 
to the mechanical music
my smile
a flat worm in the sun.

Now here we are
a year later,
Anna and I,
descending from the 10th floor
in this hospital elevator.
I still see the disappointment in her eyes
when she saw I was afraid
of a child’s ride.
She holds my hand
tight as a rescue worker
as the cable lowers us
in this black box
smelling of urine
to another pure white hallway.


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FRiGG: A Magazine of Fiction and Poetry | Issue 47 | Spring 2016