The Clown's Monologue
I am a clown: silly, simple clown.
People do laugh at me: I often wonder why.
They call me 'fool' when I am being honest,
And tell me to shut up when I speak the truth.
My life is harsh, and every day I struggle:
I struggle to survive; I struggle to break through.
And yet I do not scold my fortune.
I do not growl, and I grumble not.
I entertain, but rarely entertained,
And smile when I do not feel like smiling.
My age is old. My pleasures are too few.
My youthful memories grow faint and disappear.
I sleep where the she-night finds me,
And wake where the he-morning scares her away.
He slowly comes, dignified and noble.
She slowly leaves, flirtatious and lonesome.
The morrow comes, bringing its timid sounds.
A cock is out there, cockily cocking – rogue.
He wakes me up, pretending not to notice.
The morning sleep is a misdeed to him.
I open eyes: the sky is still above me,
And then get up, stretching my legs and arms.
I manly yawn: I do not yawn like ladies.
Finally ready to walk; to live; to be.
Today is Sunday – glorious Sunday –
The best day to earn, to gain, and to receive.
When one has almost nothing, walking is always lovely.
Two steps at a time: no need to rush.
I enter a plaza: the town's belly-button.
A sea of things I see, yet few can buy.
Bread, spinning famished heads around,
Sweets, spirits there – anything you want.
Here I am, dancing on a wooden scaffold,
And here, adults, watching, children, laughing mad.
They throw me coins: they know that I need them.
They know and love my tricks; I love them too.
A clown is a godsend for every party.
I dance, and jump, and somersault myself.
People are on cloud nine; in seventh heaven.
I win again: the crowd is all mine.
Sunset; sundown; evenfall is here.
The weary people have had enough.
Alas, the daily play is over now;
But life's play is still going on.
I find me a lowly-lowly tavern:
Buy meal and drink. What else a clown needs?
All my life, I walk round and round.
I have no home to go; no family to see.
A b*tch is nearby, hungrily staring.
She wants to get much more than I can give.
I finish meal, and throw her leftovers:
She swallows them before she reaches them.
I suck the friendly bottle dry and hollow.
It makes me warm, gently befuddling me.
In daytime, I may be a clown;
When drunk at night, I am a king of life.
Copyright © Max Brown | Year Posted 2019
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