this unruly clown tumbles out of a clapped-out car
all windmill-limbed keenness, daft Labrador grin
hectic, a whirling compass needle or else
a Geiger counter, sensitive as blistered heels
convinced there is not, & never could be, a beret-headed
mime around each corner caught on a length of rope
but, listen, there is the coded rhythm of near-ultimatums
like so much holiday luggage thrown down stairs
relieved of the sudden burden of a final straw polished
as if antique, an iron lung in an auction house
gasping for bathos now, still pale-faced & baggy-trousered
reeling, tripping over canoe-toed shoes trying to say;
look, the big top, all collapsed & crumpled, is
from a safe distance, quite amusing in its own way,
& in that way, so like a porcupine in a whoopie cushion