Ring Master

The corpse-painted cheek
of the ring-master
says it all,

flaking in soft scabs
from just beneath his
squint red eye,

like frail leaves from a
cabbage head once rot
has set in.

When he tries a smile
the gorges of his face
push deeper

inviting you in,
like a modern-day
Hannibal

who just can’t resist
that next descent in
to darkness,

braving exhaustion,
white-out, a corpse paint
avalanche.

“Ladies and Gentlemen!”
He calls, and on come
the elephants.

by Steve Nash

Email: steven.nash82@hotmail.co.uk