Clown

At two o’clock on that Sunday afternoon,
In the park amidst the daffodils and dancing children,
Two people took seat on a bench
Next to a clown.

Clown wore a white, baggy suit and pointed hat
Decorated with pink pom-poms, and oversized shoes.
His hair was straw yellow
And on his white face, an eternal smile,
On his white cheeks, two starry tears,
In one hand, a flock of balloons, struggling skyward.

The first person asked why he held the balloons so tight.
Clown replied that they were his memories and he had tamed them,
And if he were to lose his grip they would escape
And bumble upwards into the deep blue forever.

The second person asked why he always smiled.
Clown replied that the gods had painted his face like this,
And whatever he felt, he always smiled and cried
At the same time.
If he removed the make-up there would be
Just a mirror, reflecting everything.

The two people thought he was a nutter, and said so.

Clown sat still, and listened to the children play,
Smiling his eternal smile
And, knowing what he knew,
Said nothing.