Gravitron
The floor drops out,
disappears,
like Josh’s dad on Sunday nights,
like the football we left in the street
that one day when the pool’s
seductive, chlorinated waters beckoned.
Anything you drop gets sucked out
into another dimension,
so if you lose a shoe,
that’s it, it’s gone forever.
You have to hold onto the bar
really tight,
or you’ll go flying out into space, too.
“It’s true! I saw it happen, I swear!”
That isn’t funny, let’s
throw rocks at the lamppost
instead of going, okay?
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