A Snowball's Chance

A burnt out clown skipped downtown
Under cloudless skies of burnt umber.
He's on his way to The Last Horrah:
A hole in the wall with a rusty gate
For a door, on which two bronze lions paw at each other.
Tiny Koreans patrol the entrance, with sunglasses and pony tails.
It's one of these foo foo endangered animal bistros
Everyone loves,
Full of fat men in suits, and top hats, and white gloves.
With a grand in hand, you can land a Condor's Egg Nest
And Bits of Five Whales.
But clowns don't have a grand, he doesn't have a dollar.
He's got floppy shoes that step on each other,
A big red nose that honks when he sneezes,
A silly bow tie that spins in the breezes.
Snowball wanted so bad to be in the scene.
He paced the alley til two,
Smelling the burning sinew of monkeys and owls,
Listening to the gutteral wails of the upper crust
As they clinked tumblers of tiger's Blood.
Snowball fell to his knees and clawed at his pepto bismol hair Until cherry blossom Splinters fluttered down the gutter.
His white tears ran down his face and pooled in a broken brick, marbling the stone like a thirty- dollar cut.
The good lord couldn't take it.
He sent the storm, he sent the rain and the thunder.
He sent the flood, the ark, washed the whole town under.
Lemur, Sloth, Mammoth.
Here's your buffet, Snowball, whatever you'd like.
-DyMc