Don’t Bother, They’re Here

Photo of clown puppets on fingers. “Guess what, Hon? They’re here!” you said, referring to the clowns. They were pounding on our door. You were tearing around trying to straighten the place up while I stood there completely still. We were tired, smiling with relief.

“There should always be clowns,” you said, pouring out the gin.

I had recently been thinking, aren’t we a pair? And here were our clowns, just like before.

“Get your sorry old selves in here and have a look at this mess,” I said, ushering them in, telling them to sit on the stained sofa, not to bother removing their coats.


Meg Pokrass writes stories she doesn’t know she’s writing. She lives near the Scottish border with a dog and cat.

Photo Credit: Tony Young

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