The creaky metal chains are swaying in joy
so are the pigtails that are bouncing so high
the balloon in her hand is no longer upright, neither is his newsboy flat cap.
her wrinkled face is bright in the sun, his forehead is greased with sweat, the poor chap
the man is pushing and struggling, he is old
the woman is soaring and savouring, she too, is old.
the balloon seller watches, he is confused
but I take a picture, I am bemused.