There is a strange ceiling collection
Of clowning acrobats
Hanging from the corners of your room.
They are clever contortionists
Silent, suspended figures
You say your predecessor left for you.
They do not swing or sway
Keeping Mum,
As you mouth and moan in gaelic tones.
They play their part better than you
A gleeful tableaux
Mocking, as you act the bedroom fool.
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