The Clown

I’ve never been a bouncy clown
bright – but not bouncy
disheveled orange hair
orange polkadot clownsuit
and big red galumphey shoes
but not bouncy

I’m a silent clown
and gentle
I carry Josa with me
she’s a sea otter
most people like to pet her
‘cause she’s soft
and a little shy

I stood in the bank parking lot
with her one day
so people coming out
could see her and stop their rushing
for a minute

there was a tractor trailer
parked in the street
and when the burly looking man
came striding out of the bank
I knew it was the truck driver
I worried a little about him
so did Josa

but halfway to me he broke his stride
his whole self softened
as he reached to pet Josa
so gently – so gently
and said softly
“she’s wonderful”
and went on to his truck

it’s like I said
I’m not a bouncy clown

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—

I sit on the ledge

by chapel windows

bright colors surround me

but I can’t shake the sadness

—

the woman talks of weapons

and finding another way

talks of two bullets

made every year for each person

on the planet

what a waste

—

I’m just a clown

and when the sun pierces through

the red and blue and yellow

and clear panes of glass

I sit and mull it over

—

it should be simpler

it seems to me

to know by now

the killing doesn’t work

—

I felt a woman cry

when she saw me

because there was another

Gentle One who couldn’t

get them to stop either

—

they still think it will work

the guns and the deaths

and a bullet for everyone

—

but that Gentle One

and I know that

what works

is loving

—

we’ll keep sitting here

on the ledge of the

chapel windows

—

maybe others will see us

and know the difference

between the dying

and the loving

—

© Copyright 2012 by Ann Freeman Price

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