SEND IN THE CLOWNS

[Maureen K Clifford]

SEND IN THE CLOWNS
Maureen Clifford © The Scribbly Bark Poet


The air is hot, the tension’s real, it’s clearly written on each face
in the arena where a battle of brute strength is taking place.
A feeling almost tangible - you taste it with the dust
that’s kicked up in the bucking chutes. His bull rope he’ll adjust;
a smear of red shows on his leg – not blood just metal rust.
Man and beast both locked in battle in this space.

Play the ace - send in the clowns
Send in the blokes in footy socks,
who face the wildest big steers down.
Send in the clowns. Send in the clowns,


The flank mans pulled the flank strap up another notch to irritate.
The gate mans waiting for his cue to open wide the metal gate
They’re out!! The clock is ticking will he make the eight sec ride?
He’s hanging on for grim death. Now it’s all about his pride.
He’s down the well and spinning and at last he starts to slide.
He’s hung up! With his hand trapped by his weight.

Send in the clowns! Send in the clowns!
The call is heard across the grounds.

That big roan bull’s cutting up rough – rodeo clowns know how it goes;
while one detracts with lots of bluff and pirouettes near the bulls nose ,
his mate a clown of high repute has freed the bloke alright.
The bull is pawing at the ground then to the crowd’s delight
a clown is charging at the bull, who backs away in fright,
disconcerted by this bloke in funny clothes.

Send in the clowns, send in the clowns
they’ll make you laugh – might save a life.
They show no fear, make smiles from frowns.
Send in the clowns! Send in the clowns!

[Stephen Whiteside]

Sounds almost as bad as my drive to work on Monday morning, Maureen.

[Maureen K Clifford]

The tension would be similar