We were listening to sounds the circus made
When the darkness twisted out of his head.
“Look how his bloodstream is oozing away!”
Cried the lady hugging her heart-shaped purse,
Her back to the horses parading with streamers
And steam in their tails. I was afraid
Nobody else had seen him erupt
But me. He never whimpered at all
Between the lady and me, a column
Of silence facing the horses and drums.
But had she really perceived, I wondered
Without changing direction or biting my lip.
When I brought down the hammer again (the crowd
Was cheering the quivering thighs of a drum
Majorette), had she perceived the plump
Little echo made by his wound the moment
She cried, the moment I pulled the hammer
Away? Because it was then in a panic
Of pity I saw her again through the loop
Of his arm as he rested a hand on a hip.
Torn by the instinct to scream and the fear
Of dropping her purse if she opened her arms
To help and the anguish of missing behind her
The loudest part of the circus parade,
She did nothing but shut her proud little eyes,
Turn on her hard round heel and shuddering
Walk away. Later I wanted
To find her and tell her, “My witness, my lady,
You who were so afraid, do you know
How we triumphed, your victim and I, the rest
Of that day? How all those loud steaming horses,
The
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