There is a long country road
begging to burn some bare feet.
Redder and redder it grows,
by the green that surrounds
in all directions far,
and those brightly colored tents.
An oasis- or an abyss,
echoing the laughter from miles,
of smiles of small children,
and screams too. With small fingers,
pointing impolitely,
curious with wonder.
I want to walk upright-
shoulders proud, spine straight.
But I’ve got calluses
on my sole
and the heat doesn’t burn,
only blisters.
Inside the sins manifest
themselves in rare forms
as the audience applauds,
or gasps in horror. All the while
the spectacle in the ring- the show
must go on.
I just want the safety of a net,
like an acrobat, tightrope walker,
or a trapeze artist,
not a lion.
