The Trapeze Swinger

source: dmaff17.blogspot.com
source: dmaff17.blogspot.com

It was spring when they set up the circus.
We watched them work from the window
of our plain kitchen, the jay-blue, hazard-red,
green-as-a-glowworm lights that would melt
on our sensible walls as they heaved and clattered,
raised the steel bones of the skeleton-fair
and fleshed it out with animals. This excited you,
secretly: the chained fur did not raze you
as I seethed on my podium-doorstep.
You passed me, grinning, to join them.

My anger was a spectacle, but as the roar of the lions
and giddy applause rose off like a last balloon
I fell dizzily in love with a silhouette,
the trapeze swinger, shooting wild above crowds
and candyfloss-clouds: swine-pink,
his bald foot kicking out and swimming
the naked air. We watched him spin
like a saucer, fling himself free
from the elephant-cage, blunted tusks,
across the moon and its animal heart.

You looked from me to the trapeze swinger.
He’s not really flying, you said.

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