the willies

Since it's Halloween week, and we're in the spirit of all things awful,
I must admit creepy humans, like Du Maurier's "Danny" Danvers,
are much more frightening to me than ghosts or spirits. Maybe it's
because I've lived for years in a house that's haunted by only kind
and gentle spirits. But, clowns, in my opinion, fall into the same
category of human scariness, as do murderers and saboteurs.

With grotesque face paint and mimery, a clown hides his true identity
from the public. I'm sure the majority of professional clowns strive to
entertain with pure motives. But, for me, clowns conjure certain
unsettling thoughts about disguising oneself, as a wolf in sheep's
clothing, in order to fool people. Partly to blame, is most likely the
yecchy painting, that hung in my bedroom as a little girl. No matter,
clowns give me a major case of the willies, and I'm not talking about
the Nelson variety, either.


Anti-Clown


If she showed up at my door
all whitefaced and Emmitt Kelly,
her rubber chicken
and hidden agenda,

I'd burst a balloon or two
by telling her to take a hike.
Go do her tightrope stunts
in someone else's living room.

Ride her weird clown bike
down the street,
where they would not oppose
her faux nose and floppy feet.

Frown smeared with lipstick,
the big top ringmaster,
tames her own lions
in slapstick disaster.



willow, 2009