Big Top

Big Top. pic

 

other people’s encampments, their pleasure zones, for once,

are not off-limits or out of bounds

Their gaudy fare and pick-pockets mix with those types who

sport tattoos, chew gum and wear flamboyant  facial hair

The otherness of it all, the pornography of colour and sound

and everything somehow beyond confession as if it was

all dressed up in the dark so pleasure and sin can be

made thrilling in the anonymity of shared experience

 

Those minstrels come to town in wagons and caravans

that seem to be beyond normal law

Charlatans with soft toys and goldfish they would sell as gifts

All gaudy hostages in transit, into whose misfortune we become

complicit

The ground itself a crime scene. Innocent lush grass crushed

not just once but an entire Village Green, a sacred space, sacrificed

to organs and screams. And then it’s gone

The Circus woven and spun into and out of itself

The Big Top, fascinatingly,  moving on and leaving me with

distorted visions in vanishing hub caps

my soiled prurience intact,  until they roll into town again

Hampton Ferry

Hampton Ferry

Hampton Ferry

 

An ancient tale

Will travel between the banks

Of England’s most famous river

And here, at Hampton

The ferryman still plys his trade

Oblivious to ghosts and superstition

His transport now is much the same

In that he transfers passengers

And denizens of faraway places

From side to side

And we, the inheritors of now

Indulge ourselves with modern coinage

To perpetuate this ritual

And ruffle the waters

As citizens who find pleasure

In short trips