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.