Circus (South Africa 1974)

In dancing motes of sawdust trot the zebras,
Around and around a ring of striped constraint
Til in a blur of bucking whips they turn to grey
And match the color of the rain-soaked sky.

A circus elephant, ankle fettered by chain, readies herself
For the applause that sounds so deafeningly unlike
The silent herd in her memory;
And back of the ring, three lions in a cage on wheels
wait for the usual hoops of fire,
(possibly dreaming of wildebeest).

In the hollow stands, I sense something behind me:
In the ooze of cigarette-butt mud,
coming in between the flaps,
I see a boy, dark as chocolate,
wet as fear,
in the shadows crouch to watch...

The drums roll…then burst, as dwarfs appear
with downturned mouths and bulbous noses,
tumbling in swells of mirth.
Behind me – A popcorn-seller divests his hot-buttered humanity,
kicking the boy, with well-aimed boot, out into the rain.

Lightning cracks the canvas flaps open to the deluge.
I dig my face into a ball of pink candyfloss
and all around me clowns guffaw.