Clown Poem by Kevin Eaglesfield

Now the laughter's died
And the hand-sore rows empty
Like popcorn filled sheep,
He hurries damply to his father's father's van
To put his make-up on.
Expertly seasoned tones, quickly painted
Hide the cold Geisha white and,
Almost, the black tear that never dries.
The laughing mouth inside the sad red one
Reverses and purple eyebrows sober.
Next a careful wig imprisons the feral
Orange mane his mother used to ruffle and
A mouthpiece fills in chessboard teeth.
Bow-tie and buttonhole are lovingly tissued.
Satisfied, he winks at the mirror man
For the thousandth withering time.