The Circus
A short poem, written by Francine Sanger
The Circus
Dark, damp, leaking, multi-coloured tent
Lycra-clad artist tightrope high,
Lumbering elephants, forelegs bent
Red nosed clown, polka dot tie.
Performers parade, trumpets blare!
Chimpanzees chase and children cheer.
Odour of animals scents the air,
Pulsing drumbeats fill the ear.
Ring emptied, spotlight shines,
Aerialists climb to peaks of light,
From wings and rings on hanging lines;
They swoop and leap, bird-like flight.
Far below, on sawdust floor,
A cage is built, lions pose and bound.
Whips crack and sting, a ferocious roar;
The audience gasps in fearful sound.
It’s a circus, its fun! Its laughter and pain!
Juggling, tumbling, clowns’ custard pie!
Lions and tigers obey whip and cane,
We cheer, we laugh, perhaps we cry?