You bounce
through the curious crowd
in your blue bowler hat
and star-scattered suit,
squeaking laughter and giggles,
as you caper down the corridor,
into a room for a quick clown show.
Your stars –
stark against the bone-white
walls – dance as you bow
and start blowing and bending,
squeezing and twisting, sculpting
miracles into plastic balloons – now a heart
for the gibbering toddler, now a sword
for the one-
eyed girl, now a crown
for her bald-headed friend,
and a daffodil abloom
for the silent young mother
sitting by an empty bed, longing
to be given a different
miracle.
