Clown (Poetry)

She was his queen, he played her faithful clown —
a jester turning cartwheels at her whim —
but now her face is set in a bored frown
and love’s a joke that’s quickly wearing thin.

Once he made her laugh until she cried,
since when all tears are his — the ache grows raw
and she never smiles although he’s tried and tried —
his old routine’s not funny any more.

A scornful look too often clouds her eyes —
a wordless glance that labels him a fool,
he flinches under comedy’s disguise
and feels the stab of silent ridicule.

She watches his performance one last time,
a pitiful and unamusing act —
sheer desperation dogging every line —
she shakes her head, embarrassed, doesn’t clap.

He hangs his head, defeated, and she’s sad
but tells him that his clowning days are done,
’though she’s grateful for the happy years they’ve had,
there’s no fool like an old fool who’s no fun.