CIRCUS ACT Poem by Nicolette Stasko

In the harsh white light
of the hospice
it suddenly seemed
as if we were three clowns
in a green and yellow
Noddy car
we all wear striped pants
the tallest one gets out first
he is long and lean and his hair
sticks up as if electrified
the second gets out slowly
unfolding her fragile limbs
like a wet insect
or a deer being born
she touches her face
momentarily and then
disappears
each looks around as if
for the last time
in slow-motion pantomime
the third short
with a big red rubber nose
is waiting
to appear when
the clapping dies down
the shadowy last
sits still in the car
who said
timing is everything?