“The Goodbye Clown”
It tolls; the old town clock is winding down.
It’s time to leave the party; say goodbye.
He’s played the fool and knows he’s but a clown
but fantasies go deep and so he sighs:
“Time’s granted me another twenty-four,”
he tells bartend, mid silence of the place.
“I’m granted power for a world in need.
So, what do you think people ache most for?”
“There’s power in some money, that’s for sure,”
as barkeep nods his head at old tip jar.
“But dollar’s hapless in so short a space.
I’d rather give a power frees all doubt:
man shown the mystery of Universe.
So, for that time, a God we humans be.”
“That’s well and good if there’s no memory,”
says barkeep, shining up another glass.
The old man stumbles; he prepares to go.
He thinks he’s Bogie, playing roles in life.
He’s lonely; haunts the bars for his Bacall.
She’s blonde, but does not look like his dead wife.
“Hey, better that you go before you fall!”
Bartender opens creaking door to vent
the scent of smoke and conversation stale.
A pale and misty rain the morning’s sent.
For napping man; a cabby promptly hailed.
In blazing light, he mumbles out the door.
For clowns, the party’s over close to four.