Roller Coaster Ride

Roller coasters have been around
(and around and around and up and down)
for four hundred years, give or take
(taking the word of Wikipedia);
Russian queen's fancy, now in
kiddie, hyper, giga formulations.
They've thrilled and chilled, a few times killed,
but coasties always, always want more.
Higher, faster, steeper climbs,
death-defying drops, over in minutes.
I know, because I've stood on solid ground,
calculating how exactly long I'll have to
hold my breath or close my eyes, if I
give in and get on.
Any day of the week, though, I'd go
to a park and pay my dime
if it meant avoiding the other kind
of roller coaster, the one a carney
strapped my emotions into too tightly,
Life As We Know It. I'm getting off.
Keep my token, the queen has spoken!
I can't keep up, too tired of arranging
smiles and frowns to suit your ups and downs,
your choices, decisions about your vision of
what my day should look like. I'm done.
If you want me, I'll be in the Tunnel of Love,
trailing a finger in the water, sitting in my swan-shaped
boat that goes so slowly
I can finally catch my breath.