A portrait of an acrobat as a young man

A portrait of the acrobat as a young man

Spinning in circles in the air, over traffic,
the cars spin in their own rotation, oblivious.

The only safety net is the cloth I grip, never letting go,
unless to contort and twist for those who may perchance observe .

A simple mistake, a moment of lost concentration,
it will all end, and then they will notice.

They won't however, until it's too late, to look up from their commute,

their screens, their self-centric lives, just for a moment of horror and gore.

But until then, I continue to spin, twirl, leap, and fall,

never, ever to lose my holding, never to be noticed.