The Boys & The Clowns
for my brother Christopher & our Bay Head summers
Sunny jaunts,
now-and-again treats,
with cousins, siblings;
and parents along
but somehow invisible.
Outings from our
sea-salted summer town
at the head of the Bay.
Up a few slow-drive miles
to Point Pleasant and
the boardwalk
oceansiding the Atlantic.
To all the rides and
small-town carnival arcades.
The red-and-yellow
Tilt-a-Whirl, the large
tea-cups we’d sit
and spin in,
the shiny bumper cars,
the saltwater taffy stand,
other kids passing by
licking torches
of cotton candy.
How everything looked
so big in our littleness.
And my favorite game
to visit, take a shot at,
with my big brother.
Where we’d stand
side-by-side
at the high counter,
draw our trusty steel
water pistols
and take steady,
squint-eyed aim
at a chorus
of clown heads.
Trying to fill one of
the O-shaped mouths
in the row with water,
and into the balloon
atop one of their heads,
above one wide-eyed,
circus-painted face.
Fill it to bursting,
before the time
ran out on the clock,
and our water hoses stopped
pumping, and the bell
rang like a fire-drill.
The balloon-busting prize
was a big stuffed animal
of your choosing.
And once, once
I won the contest
with the gaping,
gulping clowns.
But the real prize,
the real joy,
was always
in the playing,
not the winning.
In being together,
we boys,
we brothers.
Colin Goedecke
Westerly-by-the-Sea, Rhode Island
March 2024
