The Circus
In the beginning it was unpacking
thirty-three bozos from the sky-
blue 1962 Volkswagen Beetle —
Frizzy hair, red nose, painted smile
big as clown feet.
In the middle it was a trapeze act
above the lion tamer’s cage.
Flyers cavorted with catchers.
Look! No net!
The crowd screamed confetti.
In the end it was a parade on busted springs:
The Beetle pushed by clowns
toothless lions groaning;
high-wire artists gimping;
all like elephants — wrinkled, gray.