My family are plates I have to keep
spinning, keep happy. I check
each piece daily for damage, lifting
 
them up to the light. The elephant
barks at flies doing the high-wire
on its trunk. During breaks I sit
 
amongst clowns and acrobats
who make-believe homes in suburbia,
pies on the windowsill and brightly
 
lit Christmas trees. Tomorrow I feed
the lions, place my ear to the ground
and listen to my dizzy heart slipping
 
out of the ribcage. Perhaps I will don
his red suit and top hat, whip my way
out of this big top while they lie cracked.