The reason why I do sociology rather than spoken word poetry...

Rain falling sideways.

Like her hair,
blowing in the wind.

She's standing on the back
of a circus truck.

She's with the clowns.
The happy clowns.

She's trapped in a box.
She can't get out.

It has invisible sides,
an invisible top.

It's an invisible box.

She feels the sides.
She feels the top.

She can't get out.

Her white face
shines in the sun.

Black stripes.
Defiant.

Hot mime.

And you wondered all this time why I chose the backup plan that I did.

Now you know.