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