DecPoWriMo 5

I suppose it is not so 
To be unable to recollect

Which events in the past
Took place in which years
After all we have lived

So far this year waiting
To know when this year
Will be over and yet

Still the waiting continues
In the meantime the past
Recedes like a future event

We have no way to gauge
If it will ever take place
The horses on the carousel

Remain covered in plastic
Drowsy from such disuse
Their prolonged hibernation

A reflection of our inner state
Such pageantry and whimsy
Stilled in the brisk afternoon

Not even collecting dust