POETRY
(Copyright - Pierre du Toit)
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The Great Clown
perfume and smoke
laughter which cuts
the sherry in glasses and coffee
held high above bodies
as shoulders touch backs
and programmes are rolled
below bright chandeliers
the ringing of bells
cigarettes hiss from buckets
they stream through the doors
and pull in their knees
mumble excuses
and settle with whispers
or fumble with sweets
a beam pierces darkness
a circle
on curtains which rise...
it dances an instant
a vast empty stage
before
- to applause -
…the Great Clown appears
his nose is grotesque
his mouth is blood red
his oval white eyes
run straight up and down
he puts out a hand
and, lifting his hat,
commences to shuffle
to talk and to sing
to fall and foretell
and to die and to rise
and to ring a small bell
till faster and faster
his show gathers speed
as he's carried on wave
upon wave of their laughter
and then he slows down
softer and softer
and right at the end
in a near holy hush
he stands in the centre
his chin on his chest
a theatrical tear
in the paint on his mask
...the Great Clown is gone
The dim lights come on.
They turn to the night.
Their noses grotesque.
Their mouths are blood red.
Their oval white eyes
run straight up and down
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