Peach stucco walls weave to catty corner doorway step up
matching the bag of marshmallow peanuts in a boy's hand.
The other hand holding his mother's wrist, tightly.
Letters in calliope neon spell up and down, Circus.
Clowns with fallen faces sit on stools
a vested ringmaster juggles colored glass bottles
Through dreary midday darkness, spools
a mother nudging her boy to the right.
“That boy can't be in here”
“It'll only be a moment sir, he'll be quiet”
With quarters to play the bowling machine
the boy sliding a steel puck half hearted, thin
shakes out a tube of saw dust, along the run
and clacking of retractable shell-hollow pins.
Over his shoulder, he looks, there are distractions.
Cigarette smoke and pub wall mirrors weave
spinning an illusion of bright lights and a gas pump scoreboard.
His mother and friend speak for a few minutes
unrecognizable to the boy, in a bar room haze.
Convinced, the duo stand and hand over hand trapeze
along the bar railing, tumble falling towards the door.
Side show freaks will have nothing to do with it.
By the beer frame, under a buzzing beer sign
she wobbles, cries and wails, a high wired act, before leaving.
Dinner will be late tonight, in two homes.
The cougar tamer in the corner, comments
