a poem in my pocket

a three-ring circus on caffeine;

incredibly entertaining as long as

you can keep the wild tigers in their cage.

In the first ring, imagination’s clowns

and their colorfully-costumed dogs

perform fantastically frisky tricks.

Random elephant thoughts

plod tails-in-trunks in the center ring;

going round and round under hot spotlights.

In the last ring, fast ideas on noisy

motorcycles race recklessly within the

locked, metal-meshed sphere of the mind.

Rising upward, visions of long-legged,

feathered women twirl dizzily from tethers

until the human cannonball is shot high into the air.

Unexpectedly, the glaring mania of lights

dim to reveal the surreal threats of a

thousand glowing souvenir light sabers.

The mood suddenly trips over an

empty cotton candy cone and tumbles

head-over-high-heels down the steep steps;

Rolling from the upper nose-bleed section,

plunging past shocked spectators to crash

into depression on saw-dusted floor of arena.

Ladeez and genteel-men, may I have your

attention pleez:  be sure to take your medications

or risk falling from the sky with no safety net below.