Not meaning to eavesdrop, I heard the lady say

her nephew was a full-time paramedic, part-time clown

and imagine this guy at a children's birthday party,

twisting long balloons into animal shapes

until a car runs a stop sign on the nearby street,

crashes into another.

 

                                    The clown lets go

the untied end of a green doggie, the kids giggle

as it chases its tail briefly, then flittles to the floor

with a final spluff.

 

                                    The clown pivots (as much as a man

wearing shoes that big is able to pivot) and stumbles outside

in his polka dot jacket and baggy pants, his soles

slapping the driveway, knees pumping extra high

to keep from tripping.

 

                                    He grabs

his EMT kit from his Chevy S-10 pickup

and lunges for the wreck, finds one driver dazed, the other

unconscious. Our hero clicks on his headset,

calls his buddies at 911 while bandaging

a nasty head wound.

 

The injured man revives for an instant, whimpers

and lapses again into unconsciousness.

 

                                   Later, he will

describe to all who will listen 

how he crossed over into the great beyond

and before returning, saw the pasty-white face of God,

the crimson grease-painted lips, the multi-colored mop 

under the pointy hat and that huge blessed red rubber nose.

© by Richard Allen Taylor.
Used with the author's permission.