The Joker

The joker was for so many years defined by his absence.

At once loved and dearly in evid­ence and alto­gether not there he hung at the corners, eyes set grimly in his squar­ish head.

So long ago reduced to just the back of a neck on a bus in July.

Once a burn­ing, flick­er­ing incon­stant in life.

Imper­sonal and cloy­ing. Forever threat­en­ing to cut the strings with blunt scissors.

Not even in dreams anymore.

A stun­ning prat fall and a stolen necklace.