Perhaps you’ve wondered the reason
for the big top and the balloons.
Why peanut shells crunch beneath you
as the monkey grinds his tune.
I’m juggling more than you think these days
in garish costume, glittering, festooned.
It’s been a little maddening here
with this elephant in the room.
I’m either fat or strangely bearded
spotlit before the ticketed crowd.
Hands pointing or reaching through
the bars, screaming, laughing loud.
I escape into the cannon barrel
from the trapeze I take a bow.
The fuse is lit, the blast, then a fall
and everyone wonders how
I’ve voluntarily courted this doom.
The natives are getting restless.
So is elephant in the room.
The rope that was meant to save me
has now become my noose.
I thought it was easier to ignore it
but everything caged is eventually loosed.
These things are inevitable, it seems
so strange you once could choose.
The victims litter the ground like garbage,
some spiked through with parallel tusks.
Others trampled under giant feet,
flesh and hearts now empty husks.
I still hear the screams from a throat wrapped
by a wrinkled, muscular trunk.
Everything I prized now violently revealed
to be nothing but carnival junk.
Everpresent now the curse of memory.
It will haunt my days until the tomb.
Beware the pachyderm, my friend.
It can be pink or grey but never forgotten
the elephant in your room.