Troupe Portrait with Unicycle.
by Amy D. Unsworth
One tent, one ring
and the ponies trudging their sad circles,
the bags of peanuts shrunken
to fit a child’s hand.
But the spangled girls still ascend
to the lofted ceiling,
to dangle by heel or tooth.
And to the father’s broad shoulders
the sons catapult.
And Daughter steps
from her high platform, like off the curb
in her everyday boredom.
From: Tar River Poetry, Spring 2007