freakshow

and if I died, middle night, no moon,


how quickly then would you forget me?


I have had to kill you one thousand times,


yet I grieve as all good widows do. 


would I look down from foreign clouds,


to see you with your freakshow hat,


worn askew in charming manner,


built up high to impress?

and if I died, my deceitful lover,


would the mirror tell you lies,


or placate conscience with new truths to tell?

I put your hat into a box,

simple and uncomplicated,


then buried you beside yourself,

and hoped the company would not offend.