Claude at the Circus

The Life Enhancing Circus

of Death Defying Acts 

Claude’s inner child couldn’t sit still, 

instead rocking back and forth 

in his seat as colored lights

swooped down from overhead

piercing his eyes, 

searchlights of such

blindingly sensory color

they could 

distract the mob

from other distractions. 

Coerced into joining

a chorus of boos 

emanating from the stands 

as two rambunctious clowns 

took turns clubbing 

each other over the head 

with a rubber hammer,

the rabble in the round

grew gladiatorial. 

Claude’s stomach seized

as he'd learned

long ago to be wary of

the contagious emotions

of a crowd.

The question most taunting

him at this moment

was whether the pretty aerialist 

clinging to the metal ring 

spinning in the air

was about to fall to her death 

and horrify the children 

already ill at ease 

despite their chanting 

in inflammatory unison: 

Higher! Higher! Faster faster!

Tomorrow’s newspaper was

sure to trumpet the incident

as one in a million that

she would go down like that

as hundreds of cell cameras 

captured the terrifying thud 

or splat or bounce the body

would inevitably make, 

splayed on the ground

legs akimbo

while traumatized onlookers 

covered their crying children’s eyes,

hurriedly ushering them away…

but alas, the pretty aerialist

only managed to wobble

nimbly on the giant ring 

never losing her balance 

nor her expert smile.

Next up: the trained dog act,

as seven rust-red wiener hounds

yapping in unison 

were put through their paces

by a blonde dominatrix in tights,

her bosom enhanced by 

a wreath of pink feathers

molting in the harsh lights 

as she dolled out treats

to her deprived 

four-legged captives 

all while forcing them to perform 

adroit tricks for 

a smattering of applause.

Claude felt one of them.

In fact, as he watched 

he was being sawed 

fairly in half;

one an adult and the other a child

dying to compare notes

on the spectacle at hand…

the gaudy sparkling outfits 

of the females in stripper drag 

with their fifties femininity, 

saucers spinning on sticks,

balloon animals twisted up in knots,

pastel bouffants of cotton candy,

the queasy knife throwing act,

and the women, the women

painted and squeezed into tights

waving their out-stretched arms

embellished by girlish upturned palms.

The men, buffoonish, 

stripped to the waist

like human comic strips

with tatted muscles, 

gyrated their hips

as if the natural climax 

of any dance move

was to end in a pelvic thrust.

Not until 

the aging escape artist 

submerged himself 

in a tank of womb-warm water 

only to unlock his handcuffs 

in the nick of time

just before drowning 

(why couldn’t this be the night?),

did the pint-sized ring master ask

us all to hold our breath

along with the death defying

strong man, and to raise our hands 

when we ran out of air,

did it become clear to Claude 

that at any moment 

something harrowing 

might happen 

to us all.

The little boy right next to him

abruptly brayed like a donkey

while his brother tossed 

a popcorn kernel into the air

catching it in his gaping mouth.

Claude remembered the Bible 

exhorting on becoming a man

as the "putting away of childish things" 

leaving him feeling

he’d just attended no more than

a spoiled child’s birthday party

(his own)

and like the escape artist

had emerged better for having

survived one of life's greatest challenges:

simply to live another day.

Exiting the Big Top tent

of living memorabilia,

Claude, saddened he was no longer

young, having seen the clowns

and not found them funny,

inhaled and gasped

like a man at the last moment

saved from drowning,

as his body began to shiver 

emerging into the bitter 

night’s cold air

and wouldn’t you know,

without a cab in sight.

1/10/2022