For obvious reasons, it was called “The Comet”
since riding on her would cause you to vomit.
A high-rolling streak of yellow and green
would make you take notice when it was seen.
A wooden behemoth, one of the last of her kind,
this old roller coaster was my very “first time”.
On the Lake Erie shoreline of Crystal Beach Park
in Ontario, Canada. I rode on a lark.
A field trip from school had provided the occasion
that brought our young group to this Canadian station.
I eyed her from a distance, she held no allure,
she beckoned me softly, that son-of-a-cur.
But I just wasn’t biting, I don’t roller coast,
if I even got on her, I’d surely be toast**.
I had that thing beat I was filled with elation,
I was proudly avoiding a bad situation.
And then it happened. The pulley released.
(This was the part that I liked in the least.)
With her arms in the air, Terry gave out a scream,
which was just louder than mine (if you know what I mean).
It looped and it turned as it made a few passes.
And at the top of the next drop, I lost my glasses.
My mother would kill me, and besides, I can’t see.
And she was having the best time there could be.
I almost lost lunch as I tightened the strap,
and by some crazy miracle, the specs dropped in my lap.
The ride came to an end and Screaming Terry turned meek,
and she leaned up and planted a kiss on my cheek.
But just as it seemed I had made a new friend,
she said, “That was fun, let’s go do it again”.
**(Or french toast, in keeping with the bi-lingual laws in this fine Canadian Provence!)
Walt Photo by M. Cusimano