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Last Test
for the clowns
Where there were lips
like laughing
cherries
there is now a smirk
of blood
where there was
a face
upon which
you could put any colour
there is now
around the skull
a white bandage
wrapped –
& up a side street
in Mt Eden
through a forest
that has
no leaves
through the batons
of the Red Squad
the paddy wagon
like a giant white refrigerator
goes revving . . . we needed
the clowns
you needed the clowns . . . you
who tore them
down
as if they
were posters
of some ignorance.
Earlier
I had seen
through
half drawn
venetian blinds
in Marlborough St
an old lady by herself
whose hand had waved like a dove
at us . . . the only kind
of salute a clown
could dream of.
© Bob Orr
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