The Clown & the Panhandler

So I made up this cardboard sign that read:

“UNEMPLOYED CIRCUS CLOWN.”

“Please Help Put Me In The White House,

Where I Belong!”

Then I put on the old Ringling clown makeup and costume, and walked down to the Provo River Trail, where there is a nice green bench under a shade tree. I sat there with my sign for 2 hours, Friday night, to see what would happen.

Nothing, basically.

So today I went over to Macys and stood at the Bulldog Boulevard exit.

A women in a grey wool dress with red and white stripped leggings hit me on my shoulder with her first, and said “Get out of here — this is my spot.” She said it in such a flat, unemotional tone that I thought I had misheard her.

“What was that?” I asked, rubbing my shoulder.

A stream of profanity reassured me that I had not mistaken her meaning. I backed away, turned, and went to stand at the stoplight at the corner of State Street and Bulldog Boulevard.

I don’t wear my glasses when I’m in my clown outfit, so I couldn’t see the driver’s faces as they sped by — but many of them gave me an encouraging honk, so I figured I was making an impression.

Then I felt that fist thudding on my shoulder again.

“This is my spot, too” said Miss Grey Wool Dress. She was holding a half-eaten Hershey Bar at a threatening angle, so I retreated once again.

I was running out of public places to stand with my placard. I tried the sidewalk right in front of the Chick fil A drive-thru. But the aroma of industrially prepared chicken reminded me I was breakfastless, so I walked over to Macys for a bottle of chocolate milk.

As I came out of Macys the women in the grey wool dress accosted me, saying “You should go to Orem — they have more kinder hearts.” Then she walked over to a lawn chair display and sat down.

My back was starting to hurt so I headed home. As I left the parking lot a women in an SUV drove up to me with a five dollar bill in her hand. I took it and pantomimed my clownish thanks.

Her bumper sticker read “Don’t Impeach Obama — Shoot Him!”

150529-170123

 

 

In Whose Pockets?

When you give a dollar to the Clinton Fund and Trust

you can be assured your money will not gather dust.

Fifty cents will go for jet set stuff like haute cuisine

for the staff and sycophants who lick their platters clean.

Another quarter will go to publicity, of course.

(The Clintons are so modest that they need a big task force.)

Fifteen cents in taxes must be paid (ain’t it sublime?)

Making your donation to the poor just one thin dime.

But do not be disheartened at such paltry legacy —

Bill Clinton will come visit you (for quite a hefty fee.)

from a story in the New York Times

Chelsea+Clinton+Bill+Clinton+Hillary+Clinton+8BtpYCp5Buhl

Bernie Sanders

 

 

Bernie Sanders running in the presidential race

has a certain charming and delightful fossil grace.

Making jokes on Eisenhower like a comic scrapper,

Bernie is impressing folks who need to use the Clapper.

Wrapped in their Depends, these voters hear his shrill appeals —

that is, until it’s time for getting home for Meals on Wheels.

As president I do believe he’d join the visionaries —

if only he would stop the reading of obituaries.

bernie sanders

 

Music & Youth

Music to a child is an elixir to the soul;

it heals a raft of sorrows and makes life a sturdy whole.

Put into their hands a violin or flute or horn,

and they can battle poverty and look at gangs with scorn.

When you see a youth in trouble, do not be too sharp;

think of them as angels who have yet to find their harp.

Youth Orchestra

Youth & Music

Music to a child is an elixir to the soul;

it heals a raft of sorrows and makes life a sturdy whole.

Put into their hands a violin or flute or horn,

and they can battle poverty and look at gangs with scorn.

When you see a youth in trouble, do not be too sharp;

think of them as angels who have yet to find their harp.

from a story by Patricia Guadalupe

Youth Orchestra
Youth Orchestra

Allan the Rabbit Did Not Die in Vain.

from a story in the New York Times

To highlight the hypocrisy of executions I

decided on my broadcast that a wino I would fry.

I hooked him up with wires while he slept off his last spree;

when I pulled the switch he lit up like a Christmas tree.

The station got some feedback that was negative and hard,

but then the sales department printed up a new rate card. 

Allan the Rabbit
Allan the Rabbit

When Governments Make Policy to Better Our Existence

 

When governments makes policy to better our existence,

it runs against a wall of inexplicable resistance.

Parental leave was meant to give women much more ease,

instead it’s left them scrubbing floors upon their aching knees.

They can’t afford to use it, cuz it murders their career.

Such nonsense isn’t government — it must be Edward Lear!

"It must be Edward Lear!"
“It must be Edward Lear!”

Joakim Noah

Joakim Noah, he plays basketball.

But that isn’t necessarily all.

He’s Swedish and French, and American too.

His passports are many, his vices quite few.

(Tho down in Gainesville he was in a stew.)

Along with his mother he’s founded a trust

to help children jettison big city rust.

He plays for the Bulls in Chicago, it’s true —

and should be awarded his own cordon bleu.

(But down there in Gainesville they’re still much ado.)

joakim noah

How to Write a Cookbook

Were I to write a cookbook, twould be a masterpiece

of aspic and oregano and very little grease.

I’d quote from famous people and only feature trends

in cooking that would cause severe financial bends.

I’d be at Barnes & Nobles each weekend like a shot,

offering the public my scrumptious food for thought.

A natural bestseller, chock full of sweet Gestalt.

(But were I you I’d read it with a grain or two of salt.)

chef