Clown
CLOWN
Hard day at the office – circus in town.
I hear the Sousas yellow, or dark Pagliacci brown
All in all I hate this one here clown,
Striding right into my space,
Hiding the other side of his face –
The hurries, the gestures,
Paint so thick it cracks when he smiles
Paint that don’t run, and this here gangling style.
He trips, goes down, frightens a child,
But the freaking holiday crowd rises, croaks, goes wild!
You think of this here kind, usually, as stubby, or fat,
But this one’s long and slim,
A phallic maypole, that damn well describes him.
I hate the cheering, all the rah, rah, rah,
Hate the noisy wildness of this insane Mardi Gras.
I gotta leave, but then I spot this tiny, little girl,
Fall in love with her four-year-old, golden curls.
She laughs, she gurgles, gasps – doll face so fragile
In spite of flatulence, headache, in spite of myself,
I smile.
Copyright © Daver Austin | Year Posted 2012
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