Dave Bonta's "Morning-mare" is a tiny poem about a strange, contradictory kind of waking. The title twists "nightmare" into something that happens in the morning, as if the bad dream hasn't ended when the day begins. The poem gives us just a few images: a "red ride," and then the odd, dizzy statement, "We are falling / but we go / up."
The speaker seems caught between two feelings. Falling suggests fear and loss of control, while going up suggests lift, escape, even hope. The poem never settles which wins. Red can mean danger, heat or blood, but also energy and life, so the ride feels both alarming and thrilling.
The mood is breathless and unsteady. The short lines make us feel the drop and the rise almost at once, and the single word "up" at the end leaves us hanging, a bit like the moment when you jolt awake and your body hasn't caught up with your mind. Judging by the word "we," the experience is shared, which makes it feel a little less lonely.