Fake Clowns

when you start arguing with those painted-up lunatics
who think the world owes them a red nose and a squirt flower,
you’re already knee-deep in the sawdust,
smelling the elephant shit,
hearing the calliope wheeze out its drunk tune. one minute you’re just a guy at the bar with a beer and a bad liver,
next thing you know you’re wearing the oversized shoes,
honking the horn,
letting them shove you into the tiny car with fifteen other suckers
all pretending this is the greatest show on earth. I’ve woke up too many mornings
with greasepaint on my pillow
and some clown’s rubber chicken in my bed,
wondering how the hell I signed the contract. so now when the delusional start juggling their bullshit,
I just sit back,
light another cigarette,
and let the tent burn down around them. the fire’s warmer anyway,
and at least it’s honest.