A Clown Lives


A smiling clown
lives under my shed,
that beastly thing
your kids now dread:

His beery breath
is much more rank
than that stink
off your aged Gramp;

this clown’s teeth
are as equally rough
as those in a tramp’s
gap-filled mouth:

This prankster sleeps
in daylight’s peace,
he dreams of flesh,
to eat with chips.