Like Nothing Ever Seen on Earth
Like Nothing Ever Seen On Earth
First thing you’ll be amazed at is your mama
flying the high trapeze, her long hair streaming
scarlet curlicues. The only time your papa
fumbles his top-hat words is when she’s beaming
at him from the hammock where she tumbles
in the grand finale. He’s nervous, dreaming
you’ll be frightened by the big top, its rumbles
of tigers and applause. But I’m guessing
you’ll get used to all the bells and drumrolls
pretty quickly. We clowns will want help pressing
cream pies to our faces; you can try on
my fake nose, or tickle me while I’m dressing
for the encores. There’s a golden lion
who means to greet you when you’re older,
and monkeys who’ll teach you how to climb on
the rafters. Then the weather will get colder.
We’ll lower the long poles and fold up the tents.
We’ll hoist the magic carpets on our shoulders.
You’ll walk in front, between the elephants,
where you can see the new road winding down.
To the sky, you can practice your “Ladies and gents!”
while I plaster the ads in the next town.