The Whippet

A whippet ran past me along the boardwalk.

I never saw one outside of those shows where

they prance about so unnaturally.

I chased it down, as far as I could,

but the slope was steep and

the walk had stopped, at the point

where once the water stood

Fresh and blue,

I choose to remember things

as they were

Yet for that dog,

it moved so fast,

my only memory

continues as a blur

Fond Memories of Outcasts and Entertainers

Smoke-clouds billow and

I’m left to remember when,

back as a boy, how

magical it would feel, standing

there, popcorn in hand, amongst

likeminded awestruck souls,

watching, without a blink

of blurred focus, as the

death defying men and

women, dressed in sequins and silk,

dance the strings, jump the

ledge, trust the swinging

friend, hanging there

on loops, way up the

tented sky—and there were

horses, lions, and people

who look similar to how I’ve

felt inside. 

There was so many more,

so many enchanting times, every

year, we’d go, as a family

to the greatest show—and

now, adulthood has slapped

me—the circus has since

left town, a while now, yet

it chose today to smoke today

it picked now, to ascend away—

and I remember how smiles

brought smiles and laughter caused

laughter—filling the gaps between

the gasps procured by fire eaters,

feats of strength and cannons—I remember

how it was then—but I also remember

how the clowns, painted as they were,

always made me feel a little bit sad

inside.