I stand in a clown store
and ask the question that needed to be asked.
Are we still used at children’s parties?
I suppose it doesn’t matter.
My face is still painted-
bright red hue against cracked lips.
They have touched the tip of the cold for too long
without ever truly freezing.
Perhaps if I was there,
I would not be here
in a store of hidden figures
waiting to crawl into silly striped overalls.
It will close down soon,
No longer a clown store,
and then where will I go to paint my face?