Poetry

The Ringmaster

The Ringmaster

What do you say when you are speechless
But are feeling about eleven
Different, spine-terrorising emotions
Each one embarrassingly contradictory to the last
Each one an embarrassment to itself:
High running, high strung, high
In a technologically modern circus
Of high rises and tax rises and petrol price rises.
Almost like riding on the ginormous back
Of a giant mother-beeping elephant
With no reigns, no ginormous saddle, no clue
Herded by a decievingly well-dressed ringmaster
Who is actually by association
A circus freak too.

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