& the hippos were boiled in their tanks.

staring into the clouds above
soon to part for incoming stars
i swing from the bar on the ferris wheel
keys to the circus grounds jangling in my pocket

echoing through the empty space
bouncing off the billowy fabric of the striped tents
apparently quite flammable
once-bright colors dark-washed by twilight
bleak & sad in remembrance

the piles of ashes
still lay in wait
untouched
but by the slight breeze

the glass boxes stand eerily empty
soot seemingly crawling up from the bottom
but disappearing halfway up
its desperate fingers impatient

the haunting music returns to my head
like a twisted jack-in-the-box tune
a psychotic music-box lullaby
choruses writhing in my mind
riding a roller coaster through this ferris wheel

i hear the screams of the public once again
only a murmur under the booming cries of the ringmaster
the acrid smell of smoke & hot metal
assails my poor nose
& i cough, rattling my keys again

sending more sound waves into the numerous folds of weary parachutes
that enfold the main attractions
other tents look ominous
next to the roped-off area
yellow caution ribbons flowing with a terrifying beauty
laughing demonically
mocking the whole place
& all its former glory

for the hippos were boiled in their tanks.