Ben Stainton

The Late Afternoon's Entertainment


After the party, I couldn't help asking —
"Are you a government approved Clown?"
The Clown evaded all questions
by firing a water pistol in my face.

He clomped over to the discarded buffet
and started juggling 4 cocktail sausages.
Allowing the sausages to flop disappointedly
to the floor, he beckoned me closer, and whispered:

"I walk the tightrope over a huge vat of despair.
Some day, my balance will fail. I'll fall in. Won't I?"

~

The low, sunlit trees nodded their approval.
"Well. . .", I began —
"Children detest me. Adults treat me like a loser."
He pointed repeatedly to his enormous hair.

I considered offering a sympathetic pat.
"Are all clowns really crying inside?
I thought that was a dusty cliché. Are you evil too?"

The Clown yanked off his oversized nose.
"A normal person would have sympathised."
"I know. Sorry, Clown."

~

He rubbed his palms together
until the friction was sufficient to start a small fire.
"Always surround your fire with a ring of pebbles."
Health & Safety conscious. A plus, in anyone's book.

"Thanks. Any other advice?"
He impatiently handed over a scrap of paper.
On first reading, it struck me as infantile —

BEWARE THE MURDEROUS CLOWN.
I passed the paper back to The Clown,
who instantly burnt it. Gone, but not forgotten.