With cold feet in a blanket
the clown spits on the ice
a caravan is calling
to leave the ship behind
a chance to walk on water
lures the fool to leave
the steady rocking comfort
for the rocking ice-floe stream
The train of travelling jesters
sways with awkward grace
on trails marked by the horror
of the big and bloody race
with songs and bawdy laughter
the jokers feign relief
as the city jaw sucks harder
at the road for refugees
The glass and concrete towers
shine above the dust
among the hailing barefoot masses
ready for the games and lust
the clown is blowing kisses
and the trumpets blow salute
for the staring stupid hunger
in the shadow of the boom