Early in the morning when my eyes are still heavy with sleep, my young grandson arrives for a cuddle. The sun has not yet burned through the fog. Peter brings a mug of steaming coffee and Cooper, our mini-dachshund, who dives to the bottom of the bed. In this sweet still moment, "B" and I write poems.
The following was inspired after a visit to the Topsham Fair. This is for "B" and his dad.
Drown the Clown
...a true story on so many levels.
There was a clown at the Topsham Fair as mean as he could be.
And everybody hated him, I'm sure you will agree.
He said a lot of stupid things to every passerby,
Cruel, unfair and hurtful and every word a lie.
When the crowd began to gather to hear his taunts and jeers,
I am very very certain there were folks quite close to tears.
It didn't matter who you were, if you were old or young or fat.
You shouldn't have to listen to insults bad as that.
And while he sneered up in his cage, suspended way up high,
People tried to dunk him, but the clown was always dry.
The price was an extortion, three balls, three tries in vain.
And all the while that dreadful clown was still a royal pain.
A little boy stood quietly, intently watching in the crowd.
His dad thinks clowns are creepy and he wished to do him proud.
At last he stepped up to the booth, his money in his hand.
A braver kid I never saw, the bravest in the land.
"I see you pretty mama's boy, you silly little wimp.
You can't even throw the ball, you're just a timid shrimp."
But what the clown didn't know was that his courage ran so deep.
He thought the boy would walk away, he thought he'd be too cheap.
And even if he bought the balls, he'd surely miss his mark.
He might as well be pitching them alone and in the dark.
The first ball was too high, but his second throw was strong
It slammed into the cage with a loud and ringing bong!
The startled clown was silenced while the sound rang through the air,
And everyone who heard it was at the Topsham Fair.
We hoped the sun would break through the low gray ceiling of clouds on our drive to Boothbay Harbor. Our trip on a schooner in that picturesque bay had been planned in advance and we were looking forward to giving the children a Maine experience of slicing through vivid blue water with wind filled sails and island views. They know our own stretch of coastline, but Maine has many treasures yet to be discovered.
At last we arrived and carried our canvas bags weighted down with snacks and drinks and made our way to a dock already partly shrouded in stubborn fog. We boarded our schooner with a warning from the captain about capricious Maine weather...although we are no strangers to the old saying, if you don't like the weather, wait five minutes!
The pretty harbor disappeared from view and suddenly we were wrapped in dense impenetrable fog. Occasionally we slipped past docks piled high with lobster traps and a few other boats and sailors. The scenes were mesmerizing and eerily beautiful. Sky melted into water in that silent world. Voices on board were hushed and the sense of calm was absolute.
Sometimes fog is as comfortable as being wrapped up in an old quilt.
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