AuburnScribbler

Perpetual Clown

He rubs his pale face to let it get some colour,

As the lark screams to wake him and neighbour,

He looks upon his red nose in dusty mirror,

In mind questioning am I saint or am I sinner?

 

He finishes left over Shiraz there upon the shelf,

Forcing up a smile to deprecate himself,

The water now cascades onto him from shower,

He questions again, should I submit or be empowered?

 

He pretends to be Chef now with his limited cuisine,

In taste, he knows he is Punto and not Limousine,

But the rustic dish he consumes is indeed nutritious,

A third enquiry arises, could I be more judicious?

 

Shuffling with his cufflinks, he puts on his robes,

To act out the part of business man, so that he can probe,

Deepening the treasury with money that is not his,

Fourth idea he has, there is not enough hit but miss?

 

He juggles his clients with no ease, so something he will drop,

Thus, he stands back now, and reviews this horrid, lifelong flop,

All these questions soon he says will surely be responded,

For my life cannot remain an unfinished correspondence.

 

But after liquid lunch he is back behind his desk,

His professional grin now looking more grotesque,

Missing out on a promotion due to rotten bad luck,

Notion the fifth comes into play, can I escape this muck?

 

He files away signed documents whilst he grinds his teeth,

The enamel scrapes off showing the seething grime beneath,

Catching a glimpse of himself upon the cabinet,

Sixth question he asks, is there any hope for me yet?

 

Another day has passed of his trade and commerce,

His continuous stream of something sad and perverse,

With dilute satisfaction, he goes to the Coach and Horses,

No more questions here, as he is slave to many sauces.

 

He stumbles back to his abode after Dionysian session,

Mentally trying to locate both his name and his profession,

Opening up a bottle of Grouse, to serve as night cap,

Poignancy returns to him now, so the questions come back.

 

Do I have the energy to create a positive change?

Can I escape the slimy sludge of this callous cage?

He wants and needs to travel to different town,

For his life need not be the life of a perpetual clown.

Comments1

  • Damaged Soul

    I did enjoy, very much so in fact. I see the the race for rats (rat race) effects Londoners as well as the rest of the big city lives in this world. Great poem.



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