The Ferris Wheel of Politics

Forward or backwards,
Quickly or slowly,
With cars full of people
Or of empty seats,
At a busy boardwalk,
A County Fair
Or alone in a
Surrealistic flat wasteland,
The direction remains
Always,
Around and around.
It finishes where it begins
And begins again from
Where it has finished.
Forever circling a mechanical hub
That will never move anywhere
But in circles
Until the wheel is
Dismantled
To be re-assembled on a
New rented plateau
In a different Zip Code.

When the car we watch is up high,
Necks must strain
Upwards
To see it.
At eye level,
A simple glance will do,
Its substance is never altered;
Only its relative position.

In strong storms,
It can be blown down
For it has no real roots
Of its own.
Sitting on
And perhaps staked to surface
Earth and rock,
It is not firmly mounted into anything,
But simply rests atop
Whatever will passively have it
In the hopes
And expectation
That its sheer weight and girth
Will assure its stability.

Politicians give their own girth
Great gravitas;
Though usually
Undeservedly.
They, too, expect
To stand firm on the weight
And credibility
Of their own expressed
Convictions.
Even the youngest child knows
That the Ferris Wheel moves
But does not go anywhere
And that shaking the car too much
While at or near the top,
Causes great anxiety
And portends danger.

Politicians sit still
For every time the car rocks,
Some votes are,
Inevitably,
Frightened away.

As they arrive again
At the beginning,
The goal is to make each new
Rotation
Appear to others
As a newly
Braved adventure
In leadership.