FUNNY BUSINESS
Your hair has such flair
A bounce in your step and
a plop in your pratfalls
When you’re happy, we
all know it, it’s all over
your face
same as when you’re sad
Your car is so cool and
seats thirteen if some of them
hang out the windows
And your makeup?
To die for. Drag queens everywhere
could take some tips from
your brow technique
High brow, low brow
Take a bow, o clever clown
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Mary wanted a Valentine to someone or something we cannot stand. I don’t mind telling you, it’s not just a vague dislike… clowns scare the crap out of me, always have. I once wrote a horror poem about them. Grown men in grotesque makeup, falling on their butts and getting WAY too close to little kids for my comfort… The balloon animals that always managed to explode near me… Bozo? Yikes! Amy
A new friend, Lafemmeroar, who inducted me into The Crazy Chicks Club, needed to see this poem, written back in 2010 but never published on my blog. It’s a serious problem in our society, and, as you all know, I take these issues head on. Also at my haven, Poets United. Amy
The Practice
There’s an old warehouse downtown
where they meet in secret
Sneaking down alleyways alone or in pairs
through the backdoor of an old meat-packing plant
It’s quiet; it’s remote; no one will discover them there
as they open drawers full of potions
creams and lotions and pallored paint
They pull robes and silky clothes from rusty hangers
Readying themselves for the ritual
Preening with great care as giant hooks swing over their heads
remnants of the enterprise this building once housed
Hideously masked, garishly garbed, in hats with small bells
They frolic as they practice their ancient art
Every movement coordinated, they caper and careen
The thought of their doings makes my blood run cold, even now
Grown men in clown suits, rehearsing a new routine
© Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Sharp Little Pencil 