The Joker
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,
while he capered
inside distorting mirrors.
When there was no audience
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
his hands dripping blood,
but on the upside
he is doing very well
at the box office.
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