Distant calls of

Circus chaos,

Buckled boots and

A long, grand red coat,

A tall hat to

Kindly greet us,

The man that walked

Under a tight rope,

It was time to pack

Up, leave,

He wasn’t so young

Anymore, sad I know,

The cane he had, now

Wasn’t just for show,

But to keep him upright,

Many years of many shows,

Made his back taught,

He walked towards an old

Trunk, remembering all

The grand parties he

Would throw,

Something called him to

That trunk,

Surprised he’d never opened

It in years, even once,

Opening the trunk, his breath

Caught,

No words could express what,

In that moment, he thought,

For he witnessed something

He never imagined he’d find,

If only it were some sort of

Crime,

Accidents are, in some cases,

Worse,

For there was that very special

Necklace he gave to someone,

Placed around the neck of a

Corpse,

—His wife, to be exact,

Who must’ve hid in the trunk

During a stunt in years since

Passed.