October
He chose a face
that only his mad mother
would love.
He painted a tragedy
upon a crooked grin.
His mask was designed
to mug any real mirth.
His career-path
a honking mockery.
A blundering funster
who picked-up
a badgering prod,
that made it caper, and ha-de-ha
inside distorting mirrors.
When audiences thinned,
he became the dark intermission,
a curtain drawn
over a cloaked smirk.
Now we see him
swaying on street corners,
occasionally cackling,
much crazier now
then his sorrowing mom.
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