Clown in flight

The clown rushed to work in his favourite Spitfire
Destination circus
Made up with thunder clouds around his eyes
The turbulance forced him to weep
As the blunt ageing wings of the plane cut through the dark cake of the night sky
Tears fell from the eyes of his personal storm
Collecting the white powder paint of his make up as they rolled down his cheeks
The tears went from clear to pearl
His pale rubber gloves gripped the shaking rusting controls
Whilst his bald painted head reflected the bright sheets of lightning
The pink curls of his wig sat gently on his lap
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