the tired smile

standing on the wall, supporting my head;

i tucked in my loosely hanging shirt;

morosely i lifted my droopy eyes, looked at;

folded my hands, and slapped the walls.

of course, i need to sleep, this being my desk;

the car drips of the day-long rains, cold cold;

of course, i need to go, i am way past dusk;

oh brother, give me the 3 minutes i just need.

very well then, i will not say, how much i miss it;

i am not just tired, tired and head down as well;

as the years come back again to me, my own;

i know what i do best, when i don't say much.

i watched the clown, performing the usual gag;

he walked away once they stopped laughing at the gag;

i felt happy that he still made us laugh, though tired;

i am nothing compared to him, why i crib about being tired.

i think of it with goose-bumps, humbled so much;

then i know, where he stood when the world laughed;

the tired smile, is nothing compared to the pained smile;

the tired smile, is what teaches me to say, 'alrite, here goes!'

closing my eyes, i rest against the wall, looking askew;

winking at her, i think of the clown, gag and the smile.