The Riders and I

Matching steeds
The female ahead,
her boy just behind,
though unmoving
They pretend a race
as she laughs back at him
and his eyes speak love.

In robes of God,
The man meditates,
admiring the youthful spirits
He moves not, instead a-bench
preferring hardwood to comfort always.

Pigtails streaming,
The girl atop white unicorn
laughs into the fake wind.
Exhilaration abounds,
but she shivers--

They all shiver,
under-dressed in the cold
as the golden merry-go-round
spins in falling snow.

To the side,
I am the operator.
Sighing, I sip coffee
and tighten my coat.