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
2 comments:
A neat encapsulation of what might be spectacle for us but is routine for the performer.
Hi Dick,
Nice to see you stopping by again! It's fascinating to contemplate all of the different paths that people can take in their lives. There's plenty of poetry in that line of thought!
Best,
Amy
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