Low the Possibilities

Must be the bulbous red nose,

possibly the made-up eyes

and turned-down lips

which glower a frown.

Or could be the right-side-up

paint to simulate a smile.

Might even be the baggy

patchwork outfit which

sags and drags. Such a

bedraggled figure you make,

no mother would either claim

or appreciate. That’s the

ticket, isn’t it—you’re the

bawdy, freakish specimen

out for laughter, pity or fright.

Why, even children cower and

cry at the sight. Ever been

labeled a clown? Lose those

gigantic floppy shoes, and

undo that bawdy bespeckled

tie. What mystifies and beats

the living crap out of me is that

you had to go to school to learn

those ridiculous and pitiful traits.

And to think, with a measure of

BS and some lies thrown in here

and there, you could have gone

to Washington D.C. and made

the big bucks instead.

Chris Hanch 12-27-19