Scary Clowns: A Story
Pancake-white; a slash of red:
A grin upon the converse lips;
The piggy eyes that say You’re dead,
As small and dark as apple pips.
The star-crossed sockets, eyebrows high,
The drool that oozes from the grin:
The poor straw hat, its flower dry,
The rouge upon the paper skin –
The bow-tie swivelling on the neck,
The finger taking you to task –
The dodgy patch in giant check.
The kids cry Please take off the masks!
Off they come, and out there pop
A cuddly mop of unbrushed hair,
Some Latin gags that will not stop,
A bike-eroded derrière.
Another has a pudgy chin,
A double-neck, a stethoscope,
A work-shy, smug and lazy grin,
The manner of a Mafia Pope.
The third clown, wearily sarcastic,
Neckline asymmetric, grim,
Lips like very loose elastic,
Thinks to tear you limb from limb.
Johnson, Dr. Fox, and May!
The Brexit Horrors! Ah begone!
The children howl, and faint away:
For God’s sake, Put The Masks Back On!
