what is he juggling
Maniacal clown who juggles came to town on a fall day
He hid in a tent, sharpening his craft, in an expert way
What is he juggling? My cousin asked when he entered the stage
I think it’s bowling balls, I guessed, not wise or in any way sage.
In actuality, it was skulls, human ones, I am unhappy to say
We left with weird thoughts in our childhood heads that day
They were probably plastic I said to my cousin, right?
The maniacal clown grinned at us, his teeth were amazingly white.
Surely so, my cousin agreed, but we had nightmares that night.
Halloween the next day would not have given us more fright
We are both terrified of clowns now, killer clowns make sense to us
We do not talk about it, but both feel it, me and my cousin Gus.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.