Mad calliopes whirled
In the mists ahead
And she asked if
It were true you
Only heard them
In the circus.

I wanted to say:
Consider where we
Are right now
And tell me
P.T. Barnum
Wouldn’t be
Having a field day

Ah, but I bit my
Cynical tongue. I
Hadn’t been in the
Presence of a pure heart
In so long, I almost forgot
The one in me still clings
Sometimes to dreams

I squeezed her hand
And wandered through
The midway dripping sarcasm
Letting nickels of angry wit fall
From holey pockets.

She rattled me
As we stopped by
A stage where grotesque
Midgets cracked a lariat
And the Bearded Lady
Smoked a Camel, to everyone’s
Disgusted fascination

God, why does ugly
Always have to be on display?
She shuddered, weeping
Silver. What is it about us
That we delight so
In the worst of
Humankind?

I started to inhale
And say something
About the utter fascination
Of car wrecks;
The ability to witness
Carnage from the
High ground and breathe
Relief we stay alive

But the calliopes whirled
And I realized the
Vents were toodling
Swan songs for all of us
Then kissed her hair
Who didn’t know
And was way too lovely
To be told, and way
Too saintly to be
Swallowing swords

Picking up the last nickel
Before it hit the sawdust;
Loving her madly
For hating calliopes
And all they stood for;
Shuddering at her innocence
While mourning the ages-old
Suicide of my own

Finally –and way too late-
Asking where and
Why my affection
For clowns and carnivals
Ever had its Bethlehem

03/28/2011

Posted on 03/28/2011
Copyright © 2024 Ken Harnisch