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a clown of stardust, aging

Derek Richards

i've spent my entire life
pretending to be everbody else.
if you wanted magic, i produced a rabbit,
if you needed laughter,
i would poke out my eyes and bleed joy.

yesterday, my daughter,
asked me to borrow ten dollars.
she left my apartment with thirty pounds
of loose change and a promise to change.
she notices the empty bourbon bottles
and the Want-Ad magazines;
when sweet Darlene smells despair,
her smile slants crooked and confused.

looking for a birthday clown who can
also sing and enjoys keraouke...
no clown in this city knows more Journey
songs than i do, no one can cry like me.

i suppose my wife wouldn't be happy,
she always wanted me to utilize my degree,
but teaching physics to an abundance
of small brain parasites;
well, i'm poor but i'm not desperate.

who else can turn an ordinary balloon
into Elvis or an Orangutuan?
who else knows how to whistle the
Star Spangled Banner through a watermelon?
my wife, dear Andrea, never saw
the possibilities of dying without shame

and so i watch Darlene drown her soul
in ten dollar batches of crack.
i am sick on focus of photographs
when Darlene and her mother and I
would laugh and dance.
i am a clown, aging, losing magic,
thinking often of standing before a classroom,
clearing my throat,
offering nothing but textbook dogma
and serious death.
how about a giraffe flying over skyscrapers?

when Andrea found out about the cancer,
we went to dinner and drank a lot of wine.
i think Darlene is gonna need her father.
it wasn't until the next morning that i realized
Andrea had been talking about me.

i pick up the telephone and dial her number.
she doesn't answer and i get voice mail...
Darlene, this is your father,
i've removed the make-up and i'm ready to talk
please be safe. i'll be waiting.

two years ago, on New Year's Day,
i surprised my family with a rendition
of Rain Man and they laughed hysterically.
my mother always told me,
you only look good when you get laughter.

it's so easy to manipulate mascara,
so easy to mess up a wig,
and yet, i can't seem to talk to my daughter,
or remember the sound of my wife's voice,
without being someone else.

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