With tricks in the chamber, poised to perform,
The greasepainted-up baffoon
Stretches the latex, warped and deformed,
Then, voila, see the gimmicked balloon!
The audience nods, though less than impressed,
They’re such standoffish friends.
Seeking emotive affection on his quest,
The clown cocks back and fires again.
Bang! Regurgitating rainbowed ribbons,
On flaming roller skates,
He winks then consumes a live chicken
And smashes a hundred plates.
He must spend every bullet, gag, and shtick,
Setting his feelings aside,
Whether whimsied, jackassed, or lunaticked,
His entertaining won’t be shied.
The crowd laughs, blithesome, they stayed for the show,
When it’s over they walk away.
Now the joker is exhausted, weary and slow,
Heavy thoughts wrought about his dismay.
Ambled, melancholy, in the green room,
Sitting at the vanity,
Separating the zipped teeth of his costume,
Silent with naked mundanity.
Thick-white, and colored, makeup stares back
From the dressing-room mirror.
It’d been set fast with powder, caked, shellacked,
Preventing smudges and smears.
To de-clown, he soaks a sponge with cleanser,
One abrasive from the dead sea,
He scorches and scrapes ’til his skin is tender,
And wonders, Now will they like me?
“What an absurd waste of time, you worry about,
The opinion of the masses;
For they are all blind,” the wisest cry out,
“A bunch of simple-minded asses.”
He’s shattered yet special all on his own,
It takes a keen eye to see it,
He has sparks, the rarest, glistening gemstones;
Something about him is moonlit.