“hey there, mister
frowny clown, wh
at’s got you down?”
most clowns go
here and there about
town minding their
own business, but
appreciate their
renown, the fam
iliarity with which,
when found sitting
at the beach, on
a park bench, in a
subway or a bus,
when approached
as if an acquaintance
or a friend not seen
in a very long time.
“i am known!”
thinks the doctor
william benjamin
brown, of benny
brown dental, who
is just in the city for
a bit of clowning a
round; he’s erstwhile
known as “benny
brown, dds, pound
for pound, the best
dang dentist in down
town harrisburg.”
billy, as his own
mother called him,
had a thing about
being bound to his
profession, as it
were. so once
every couple of
months, he’d
venture up to
the armoire in
the attic (ador
ned with scads
of colorful ring
ling brothers eph
emera), break out
his bozo bin that
was chock-full of
make-up, spend an
hour or two (or three)
transforming himself
into benny brown
the out-of-town
clown. and then
he’d give his ever-
patient wife (the sw
eet downy brown)
a peck or two
on the cheeks
and then per
haps another
but light one on
the lips (downy
wasn’t a bit
fond of the
taste of her
dear william’s
humongous
burgundy
frown), then
he’d hop
into his
dusty rose-
colored cutlass,
scoot over to
mcgown’s liquor
abounds, for a
mid-sized bottle
of crown, and
then off he’d go,
to the big city,
for a night of
nothing but
clowning
around. it
was a silly
habit, he’d
always tell
downy, but
it kept his
feet planted
right down
on the ground.
and it did, he’d
think each evening
he zoomed out of
town and toward
the city, he’d think
exactly of that –
and while mulling
on that our dear
william ben
jamin brown,
dds, had a
smile so wide
that it all but
devoured that
big burgundy
frown off the
overly painted
and powdered
up face of good
benny brown, the
out-of-town clown.
