when the circus came

Our circus was different from others

Often appearing when no one wanted it to

And without much announcement

Staying either past its welcome

Or brief enough so as to avoid breeding any real enjoyment

Large yellowing tents containing nothing in particular

Punctured the familiar holes of our town

Settling into the wounds with peculiar familiarity

Staked by the shaking hands of ketamine fueled employees

Who knew nothing else

Other than the indifferent construction

And dismantle

There were no rides

And no food

And no notable attractions

And admission was rarely charged

We would attend

Because tradition was more important

Than enjoyment

Sometimes sitting in the tents until we were sent home

Sometimes noticing that the striped nachos fabric on the roof had the same wrinkles we did

Sometimes falling in or out of love

Or observing the dying goats who seemed to have no affiliation to the circus itself

Sometimes we told each other

We’d stop going

Or bring food for the goats

But then we’d forget

And fall asleep

And hope they’d be there next time

Because we wouldn’t forget then