Monkey Night at the Circus

Monkey see.
Monkey do.
Monkey gone.
No longer my monkey.
No longer my circus.
Say goodbye to the red haired clowns,
the tension, the drama, the spangled tears.
No more balancing on an impossible wire,
spinning dizzily up high with no way down,
the world running round and round like it will never stop,
everything smooth and shiny bright,
its surface sticky with blurred rainbows.
I sleep better now at night, but the dark sparkles less.

I liked the way the yearning circus lights always
shimmered across the sequins and the glitter,
wishing on a thousand twinkly stars,
pink and gold and bleeding-heart red.
The air stuffed full of the warm sweet banquet-promise
of candyfloss and popcorn.
The crazy, ginger clown made me laugh as well as cry
and the performing monkeys with
their tiny, clever hands and winning grins,
those curling, gripping, funny tails
that wrapped around your fingers
as if they wanted to hold on forever.
I miss the monkeys.