Poem: Great Show

A guy with his clown face still painted on, sits down at the bar wearing a red tracksuit.

Just to clarify, it’s clown-face in the red suit, the bar is dressed in stale sweat, old farts and cheap dreams.

There are cracks in the make-up,  peeling like the paint that was once on the walls. He offers to mime to pay for his first drink.

The bartender shakes his…