So here you are, sir,

in the shadow of the tilt,

the tented dark,

done with the stick and rag show:

the dizzying plinky-plonk galloper tunes,

the popcorn, piranhas & pin-heads,

the Half-Woman – a bust on her pedestal –

the mule-face who brays in his booth,

the Aethiop savage girl white as your wife,

and here I am,

wonder of wonders!

You look nervous, sir.

Is it the mewl of the tyger?

He’s harmless, toothless.

The Bird-headed lady only squawks

for the Skeleton Man –

whose heart at last ate of itself –

& the grind shows are shutting,

the last thieves shushing

those foolish enough to be out.

So come on, closer:

trace the fur of my face,

moist at the mouth, pink lips,

the string-of-pearls teeth –

it’s softer than sawdust,

softer than wolves,

a tangle to tug.