Covid Explained by the Clowns
Prose Poem
I met a troupe of clowns in a tavern one night.
I observed them from a table in the corner as they tossed back drinks and played pranks on each other. It was getting late and I got up to leave, they were telling stories and jokes around a long table decked with empty and half-filled bottles and glasses. I stood over them a moment and all at once they went silent, gawking at me as if one person. Or one clown.
“Oh, uh, excuse me, I didn’t mean to... you know. It’s just that we don’t often— you know—”
“See a whole troupe of airline professionals?” one of the face-painted group said to the wall. They all, as one, turned again to gauge my reaction. I giggled, more out of nervousness than from the joke.
“Can I ask you a question?” I took a gamble. “I may never see you again and I thought—”
“You’d query us about the in-flight magazines and the lightly salted peanuts which have suffused stomachs from Dubuque to Dannemora?”
I couldn’t tell who delivered that sentence. It felt like at least two of them.
“What I really want to— what I am really curious about— and wanted to, wanted your—take—your—opinion on... was...”
“Yes?... Today or next year?... Good grief how long have we been talking to this shadow above us...”
“Covid nineteen. The covid nineteen pandemic.”
They burst into laughter, banging the table, rattling the glasses. Then one by one, each went quiet, till only two were laughing—trading off laughs—across the table.
When that laughter “died,” I said—“I truly would like to know.”
“Covid nineteen is a psyop, from top to bottom. The greatest in history. People were brainwashed into believing a made-up narrative.”
This was spoken, matter-of-factly, by the clown at the head of the table farthest from me.
“Covid nineteen is a mirror for humanity to see its denied and suppressed shadows. Most flinched and wouldn’t look.”
This was gently declared by a clown with pink circles around her eyes.
“Covid nineteen is a stick that led billions of gullible souls to the carrot of an experimental injection they are calling a ‘vaccine.’ ”
An older Pierrot-looking clown expressed this in French—paused—and translated it into English.
“Covid nineteen is Agenda 21. The ‘great reset.’ Their plan to shove two thirds of humanity off the world and the other third into pens called Smart Cities.”
Said a clown with fake broccoli and radishes dangling from his hair.
“Covid nineteen is the penultimate chapter of a boring, disgusting, occasionally uplifting novel. Written by artificial intelligence and free jazz.”
This came from a fat lady clown whose florid gestures punctuated her words.
“Covid nineteen is the zenith of lies and deceptions which have manipulated human beings since the beginning. The lies can only become more outrageous and apt to be seen through by exponentially more people.”
Recited by a stoutly figured clown with a Slavic accent.
I was still standing where I had been since I’d approached them. I realized I was gripping a pint glass half-filled with pretentiously named craft beer. I put it down.
“Covid nineteen is the movie you’ve all seen before. Even before there were movies. You’ve all edited these scenes together in your dreams, in astral realms and among the banalities you utter. It is your inevitable production.”
This clown was the only one so far who looked up at me as he said his words and didn’t break contact or make any gestures, hands flat on the table.
“Covid nineteen is the most ridiculous, horrible joke ever played on anyone, on any planet. Almost. The angels still love you, but they’re ashamed most of you bought this manufactured fever dream. Shoot the media, they say. End them with your remote control.”
This clown spoke in a clichéd gay speech pattern. I wasn’t certain if it was put on or real. Or a mixture.
“Covid nineteen is an intermission where the poor go shit and puke and the wealthy regroup, call their brokers, pull up their pants and count their jelly beans.”
A teenaged clown said this in an imitation, apparently, of Jack Benny!
Now a diminutive female clown stood up. I could have sworn she was Giulietta Masina from La Strada by Fellini. With such sweetness and appeal... she said to the world—
“Covid nineteen is an invitation to everyone— to wake up. Wake up from the dream of giving power to anyone or anything outside of ourselves. An invitation to become once again the director of your own beings. To listen again to your own hearts, your own truths. And to sing, finally and forevermore, your own songs.”
She let the words penetrate the air and the walls and the sky and the flesh. And sat down.
“Covid nineteen is the unvoiced scream of those who’ve been crushed by hypocrisy that obliterates trust—and by apathy that suffocates the soul of human dignity.”
Chanted by an elderly clown with tears on the rims of his black and white painted eyes.
Now the clown nearest to me at the head of the table leaned around and reached out, I thought, for my hand. I reached and taking it, he drew me to a chair next to him. I was seated at the table of clowns. A glass of red wine appeared in front of me. I sipped it.
“Covid nineteen is a bridge, my friend, drinking at the table of clowns at last, and we have been waiting for your presence for time out of mind.”
I couldn’t fathom the essence of his words. Or was it a her? I drank more wine. The paint on his/her face was of flowers and stars.
“Covid nineteen is a bridge to a new world. Not yet defined, but adorned in glorious promise. It poises for all of us to paint our visions on its face and color its body with our inmost wishes. Behind us, stunted, mutilated, almost-life, limping helplessly. Ahead—well, dear friend, only we can say. The sheet music is blank. The canvas empty. Can we make a new song – a joyful picture – on that side – over there?”
He took my hand. All grasped hands around that table. We were all clowns. Holding on to each other. Poised over, peering out there. Tumbling into an unseen promise.
Wow, beautifully written, and with lots of meaning and hope. Thank you!
clowning round the square universe.....enjoyed here much.