merry?-go-round

I saw the back of your head
On the merry go round
Endlessly chasing dreams
Like the fictional characters we rode upon
The cynical man dictated our speed and movements
But never allowed me to catch up to you
My hands held onto the pole that used to be painted gold
But was now chipping and wearing away
Like the ages of all who had touched it
I see the young children pile on and scatter
Separating, spreading, and moving on
The mothers and fathers wait, watching, as we rotate in circles
Waving.