The Circus Clowns Put the Show

The Circus Clowns Put the Show

The circus clowns put the show,

painted smiles where none would grow,

patched-up boots and baggy knees,

tumbled out with practiced ease.

One blew kisses, one threw pies,

one spun tales of butterflies,

not real ones, but drawn in chalk

on the faded asphalt walk.

The crowd half-laughed, half-looked away,

some came for joy, some came to stay

just long enough to feel less low,

while the circus clowns put the show.

Not a tear dared show its face,

each red nose locked into place,

grins too wide, eyes just too still,

hiding something hard to kill.

They juggled sorrow, danced with dread,

pretended dreams were not all dead,

as if delight could still be caught

in everything the show forgot.

And when the music creaked and stopped

and every balloon had burst or popped,

they bowed beneath the quiet glow,

the circus clowns who ran the show.