No one chooses to be a clown.
This is not to say you do not
enroll in a clown school
and register to clown.
You are not drafted or kidnapped
with tape-gag and black-bag
into a car what seems too small
to hold so many clowns.
Nor that you, as kidnappee, will
find hood removed amid
circus act, an unvolunteer
for the human cannonball pact.
No. When I say no one
chooses to be a clown
there is, importantly
one choice for you to make.
You may be in the midday slump
of office busywork
questioning the fifth cup
of coffee and whether
your coworkers note how
frequent your trips to the washroom.
You may be in the evening slump
of homebound traffic jams
remembering your car
is, in fact, visible
to the drivers who
saw you pick that snot from your nose.
You may be in the morning slump
of bustling restaurants
wondering if waitstaff
forgot your bill—and you
along with it. You check
the time. Almost two hours now.
In one such small embarrassment
new thoughts will arrive dark and strange:
"Perhaps I should go to clown school."
"Clown school may be a home at last."
That these thoughts occur at all means
you are already on the path.
"Perhaps I am a clown."
And you already are.
This is what I mean when I say
no one chooses to be a clown.
You discover a clown is what you are
and the choice is what you will do.
Andrew Yoder is a designer from rural Oregon working in Canada to make video games (as one does).
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