The town had all been gathered
By the drums of the parade,
To cheer the clown’s batoning,
Monkeys marching in charade,
A troupe of donkeys braying at
Ten leathered trunks a’swaying,
While on seven hobbling horses
Danced a nimble boardroom maid.

Coiffed tigers whining, sniping,
From within their pixeled cage,
A talking head on soapbox red
Preached equaling the wage.
On stilts the ringling master
Promised imminent disaster
Might await a tightrope walker
High above the center stage.

The big tent had been readied
And they lined up every one,
To pay their hours and heartbeats
For the thrill of passive fun.
At dawn the cotton candy sticks,
Confetti stuck to dirty bricks
Is all that’s left but to forget
The good still left undone.

***

Copyright 2015, Quent Cordair. All rights reserved.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s