EMPIRE CIRCUS (part three)

 At the far end of the tent, in a room-sized spherical cage,

two cyclists gun their motors and crisscrossing paths,

rise, sink, and defying gravity, loop and circle

You can smell the gasoline and the stink of their sweat mingle

with the stench wafting into the tent, one part river,

two parts day old piss

 

The midget leans back on a stool

It’s his turn now and everyone knows it

As he begins to play a flute,

the master of ceremonies approaches from behind

The chair pulled out from under him,

the midget jumps up, swaggers

and Bruce Lee like crouches and kicks the air,

swearing each time he’s pushed

Each time his flute, his piccolo and his whistles are taken,

he pulls out another, whistles again

He has an endless supply. When all else fails

he bends over, farts

and flees his adversary, who flustered

does not see the indomitable midget thrust a horn

between his own tall legs

toot Toot!

 

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