Circus Act

The clown has made

a Show of our Government,

his cast members acting

like Elephants, and Donkeys, and buffoons.

The Audience watches,

captivated, a sick

fascination,

horror, and wonder at how the blindfolded acrobat

tightrope teeters

across a pool of fire beneath.

Totterring,

so close

to a deadly fall.

The Audience does not realize 

that if the show falls apart,

they will burn with the Circus,

the whole Tent, tumbling, crumbling down

over their clapping, laughing hands.

Rather than watch and stare

in horror

and fascination,

wonder,

and the worst kind of amazement—

we ought to close our eyes,

turn away,

and Pray.

If not, run out of our seats

to put out the fire beneath.

The Greatest Showman (self-proclaimed–

– Made the show Great Again),

continues leading the orchestra

in a dramatic tune,

crescendoing, accelerendoing,

creating all the more pressure on the already taut tightrope,

the bass, vibrating the line, shaking the balance,

and stressing, upsetting

the Elephants, the Donkeys, the Buffoons.

The Audience laughs when they shit on the House floor,

they ought, instead, to be Praying,

and keeping their children out of the Animals’ sight;

the hungry, greedy animals,

the angry, snorting beasts

take the youngling constituents of their audience

to be prey.

So Audience,

As the Circus unfolds

(hopefully the final act)—

put out the Fire where you can,

hide your precious Children,

close your eyes when you must,

and Pray.