The Pavement Performer

by Tazeen Erum

A happy-smiley painted face,

Exhausted now, exuberant all along,

In a billowing patchwork of satin—

Green, teal, red, gold, black—

A rainbow stitched from discarded joy,

Slumped a stilt-walking clown,

Spreading his sham vows of elevation,

Like flickering candles in murky beams.

At the intersecting chaos

Of wealth and weariness—

Glass-walled indifference, honking its ease,

Comets of chrome in perpetual haste,

Privilege cresting in high-beam lights—

For an instant, the absurd was still:

An artist erased

From the city’s vocabulary.

From my climate-sealed car,

Idling as the signal blinked amber,

I watched him linger, undeniable and still

Not a man, but an echo of performance.

A small, sad spectacle of survival,

Too close to ignore, too human to face.

He was a handshake away—

I gave a note, not a moment.