The Ascension of Flippo, King of the Clowns

On some dark and stormy nights

when the thunder rolls and 

the house creaks in the wind

I swear I can hear the electric purr of the 

motorized chair lift on the stairs 

that used to be there, but is now only 

some empty screw holes and an outlet.

I can almost convince myself it is 

transporting Flippo, King of the Clowns, 

from a lower plane of existence to a higher one

step by step as he chuckles upwards

in the house where he lived for 40 years

that we have only borrowed for the past 10

but now are vacating as well.

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