Saturn on Saturday Night

This rink ranks right up there. My power skates, slice each ring, the scent of ice assails my nose. Funny in the absence of air, I breathe. It must be a dream. I don’t care. The wind of Saturn blows through my hair. No wind, you say, but I will believe what this dream gifts to me. Can’t believe I’ve made it this far. It’s not Mars - tired of the heat and the bars. Brightly lit, I see a disco ball in the mist. I am young again. Giddy boys showing off. I’m twirling like a pro until I fall softly onto my fairytale bed, the one twenty mattresses tall. I woke up a bit bruised. Saturn on Saturday night, had no idea, a princess performed on her rings. This rink ranks right up there.