Clowns

The circus is in town
In the states and nation
Chaos and distraction
Events always unexpected

Gathered round, the clowns
Making faces, ugly gestures,
Shouting in shrill voices
Just gibberish for the crowd

And what a crowd it is
Sycophantic idiots all
Believing all the shouting
Just because it’s loud

Clowns in pasty make-up
All with jobs not fit for
Every action a mistake
Frantic movements of the hands

--

Gathering together, the clowns look inward
Toward the plump ringmaster in the center
Glowing orange below his eyes
He points with tiny hands
Outward toward the crowd
Raising his voice in guttural words
That mean nothing but confusion
And cold-blooded instruction

All the clowns must follow
Every one of them plays the fool
Every clown must bend the knee
Or absorb the punishment
From the ringmaster
In the center, ostracizer
Who cannot guide the circus
From town to town.

--

Who really owns the circus?
Who casts the guiding orders?
Who is the Great Decider?
There can be only one

Behind the curtain away from view
He stands with hands on the wheel
With a smirk of supreme confidence
The Little Bald Man pulls the switch

The fall of the circus begins…