Stuck in the middle (I.P.)

Clowns are usually small in stature

(besides that they are a little chubby too)

but this clown in the town of Valencia

was over two meters long (and skinny).

Open-minded he speaks to everybody

on the artificial streets: astonished children,

distrustful adults, dreaming elderly.

Of thin balloons he folds: poodles,

birds, flowers. Which world he wants

to parody? He challenges people, he grins.

What more can you expect from a clown?

What can you expect from a human being?

As the young woman at the organic square

in front of Saint Mary's Cathedral.

She moves around on a rectangular trolley

with small wheels (she misses two legs).

Desperate, she speaks to the tourists.

Of festering words she folds: injustice,

hope, frustration, compassion, absurdum.

What you can expect more of a beggar?

What can you expect from a human being?

And from me? I am craving for tapas

and for the moment that the song of Stealers

Wheel will stop humming in my head.

So, that leaves me on this spot in the city:

clowns to the left of me, beggars to the right.

Waiters are hugged by the late sunbeams,

the trees got dressed by an ignorant fall.

But I can see that it makes no sense at all.