The Edge Of The Circus

I came to the edge of the circus

When the sun was sinking low

And the kiosk man was nervous

When I walked into the show

The painted clown swirled round,

Cackled and stumbled to the floor

A snake crawling on the dirty ground

His eyes sly and impure

A rasping growl, the proud lion

The ringmaster’s whip held high

It snapped down, a staccato sign

And his eyes, fiercely, caught mine

Falling machine-like into a hard hand

The juggler’s balls queued in the air

His face circled mine, willing me to understand

The reason he was there

The lights blazed on, interval time

Innocent queues for ice-creams

But shadows sat, dark signs

Backstage, the shredding of dreams

Lights off again, and we all looked high

At the swim-suited girl swaying alone

She swept down and round and shook at my eye

To pull back to the black of the dome

The horses rushed in, sweat and speed on their skin

Men in red cloaks aloft on their backs

Thundering hooves, sawdust in the wind

A sudden stop, swords held high for the final act

Silence and unease, every heart cowed

Terrible thuds before the trumpet blare

Then the trunks crashed into the crowd

Descendants of Leviathan, stripping all bare

The chaos swept on with reptiles in the dust

Bats in the cracks, clicking, a swishing of wings

Pharaoh’s frogs croaking, covered in slime and puss

Bulldog ants, concocting venomous stings

Voluptuous earth, panic and pandemonium

The centre cannot hold

The hyenas laugh and the Joker waves his gun

His painted grin knows every life has been sold

Trembling hands, but with a flint face

I climbed over the aisles and into the ring

The red riders scuttled to the back-stage space

The thrashing trunks slowed to an angry swing

I walked to take the shaking pole

Lion tamers, horse riders, acrobats and clowns

Men on stilts, dwarfs, the nameless with no role

Whistled and jeered, as they pushed me down

The whips for the lions now fell on my back

The elephants tossed me side to side

The riders used their horses like a medieval rack

Till the Joker asked the priest what God would decide.

All was quiet, then a slow scratchy voice

‘Guilty of illegal entry and magic power’

Disco lights and drums for the old wooden hoist.

I was lifted up high for hour upon hour

The lights went on, the music blared, it was time to go

With candy floss for the children on their journey home

My eyes were dim, my breathing slow

Soon to be alone in that white dome

The tigers came at night to drag my body down

The man who bought the world, bundled into the boot of a car

Taken to the desert, food for the hungry hounds

But the centre pole of the circus, safe as the North Star

Tom Hawksley

All Rights Reserved

January 2025