After the circus clown
painted her cheeks on,
and carefully crayoned a fuchsia smile,
she stepped into the ring to begin her show.

She began with the regular routine:
the one with the squirt-gun tears,
and the flower that was really
a loud noise-maker.
But she pulled it off well, and

soon they were following her around
like children and their mother,
or the Apostles and Jesus.
They couldn't get enough of
her red-painted cheeks,
her crayoned lips.
She spread her arms,
beckoning them in.

Anything you want, she seemed to say.

Anything you want.

The clown tossed her love
over her shoulders like candy,
and the crowd ate it up.