The circus is on fire,
the tent’s starting to sway,
the ringmaster’s wearing clown’s shoes
as he tries to run away.
He sports a tattered label,
‘The Biggest Liar In Town’,
as he waddles away from the flames,
pockets weighing him down.
Freshwater buckets lie buckled in sawdust,
reeking like the drains,
the big cats are looking angry,
straining at their chains.
The audience’s sense of humour
lies dead, choked in the smog.
They wanted Churchill the leader
but got Churchill the dog.
But the exit doors are bolted
as the fireball starts to spin;
having locked incomers out,
they’d also locked themselves in.
Our monthly gazette is now available free to all newsletter subscribers