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It is met with amusement, confusion and frowns;
my skin-crawling fear of those crazed circus clowns.
As a kid it was easy to quell all such trouble
by shunning the hell of the Big Top’s striped bubble.

But sadly that dread now pervades adult days
in a flurry of wily and worrisome ways;
for these jesters infest us and pester our lives
in a stunningly, cunningly clever new guise.

Gone are hooped trousers and a flashing red nose,
they are now donning dashing Savile Row clothes;
but beneath the chic weave and crowd-winning spin
lurks a foul stench of slapstick and custard-pie grin.

As they promise the moon on a slick silver spoon
I see through the trick to the loony buffoon;
thus my therapist’s talk of impending remission
has been quashed by the tosh of the arch politician!