Mickey Mouse The Filthy Clown

At school elections
so much depends
upon
a good speech.

Frank walks
on stage
and grabs
the mic-stand
with one sweaty palm.

A strength of thousand students,
hundred staff members
and the principal is watching
him as he addresses the assembly
and begins with his speech.

For the initial one minute
he chokes out
the usual yada-yada,
his oratory skills
are not good enough
to carry him
and his other hand is shaking.

Midway through the speech
he starts
to play to his strengths—

With his shaky sweaty palm
he unhooks the mic
from its stand
grabs it with both hands
and commences
walking on the stage.

“Now I know
you’re bored
listening to these
long lousy speeches,
so I’ve prepared
a rap for you guys
I hope you’ll enjoy it—”

He clears his throat
“—It’s your boy Franku
huh who? Franku?
Where’s he from,
where’d he come from?
Ha ha! Outta thin air,
yup that dude
I’m the only one man out there
who can give you
that tender-loving care.
For all those of you
who are unaware,
I’m running for that
school council
discipline minister,
if you ever got that spare?
Then vote for me
and ser,
if and only if
you can take that dare—”

He clears his throat again
but this time he
also cracks his voice
and it suddenly becomes
high pitched
and gentle, with a hint
of chuckle in it. Making
him sound exactly
like the excited
and joyful mouse
he has known and admired
since the kindergarten days.

Also, his hand
has stopped shaking.
“—Thank you everybody,
peace
and yeah,
Don’t do school,
stay in drugs! Bye-bye, haha!”

He cracks again
and his normal voice
comes back.
“Hey! don’t you listen
to Mickey Mouse
he’s a filthy clown
with a dirty mouth
and dirtier jokes.
I’m Frank
look at me! remember
to vote for Frank.”

The principal
and some staff members
are just gaping
at him with a confused
expression creased
on their faces.
Everyone else
is laughing
their asses off
some on his jokes
mostly just on him.

#

Frank’s now all grown
up and struggling
to make it big
in the music industry.
For money,
he uses assistance
of Mickey
who with time
has grown more
filthy and funny.

At 11:30 pm,
circus van
drops off
Mickey Mouse
at a lonely
crossroads.
His silver eyes shine
and his round black
nose shakes
as he takes heavy breaths.

Being laughed at
is a thirsty business.
Frank’s so desperate
for a drink
that he ditches
his plan of discarding
the costume first and instead
heads straight to the bar.

He walks in the sleazy
drinking joint and sees
a crowd of fifty men,
most with cigarettes
in their hands
and their choice of poison
on their tables.
He avoids any eye contact
and ignores any jab they make.

He plops down on the stool
beside the counter,
places the glittery costume mask
and the big white gloves
upon an adjacent stool
and orders his drink,
“Bourbon-rum cocktail,
no ice.”
The bartender laughs at him.
“First tell me a joke, Mickey Mouse.”
He gives out a vicious smiles to the bartender
with four front teeth out.
He has just the joke,
“So a horse
walks into a bar and—”

His voice cracks
and takes a pleasant tone
and in that soft chuckling
filthy falsetto voice
Mickey speaks,
“—I don’t know
if you guys know this
but if you’re a horse
I’m not going to expect
you to understand
the gravity
of a certain situation
because you’re a horse,
obviously—”

All eyes in the bar
are now on him
and they have that teasing
quality he knows
very well,
it’s a look you give
to a person when
you are pulling their leg.

Frank ignores
all the heckles
expertly
with his clown face
and continues.

“—so anyways,
this horse doesn’t know
where he is; so he starts crying,
squealing and shitting
on the floor,
knocking things over
so the whole place
is in panic
so um, we call pest control
and we put it down
we shot uh, six times.
He’s gone now,
we’re safe.
That was my greatest joke
of all time and what I find
most funny is that squealing
sound it makes as it is being shot.
It’s all confused
bleeding and shitting
on the floor
haha—”

Some men curse
and call him psycho,
disappointed
because the leg pulling
has come to an end.
While some others,
drunk as skunks,
laugh and applaud
not caring
about the horse’s misery
or even remembering
a damn thing the man
with the cartoon voice
just told them.

His voice cracks
and Frank speaks “—Now,
can I have my drink
and make it a double
with more rum.”
Being laughed at
is indeed, a thirsty business.

#

6 YEARS LATER

“It’s 3am in the morning, Frank
come back to bed, baby.”

“You know how it is,
until the sleep doesn’t come
I’ll keep writing, hon.”

“You’re full of shit,
at least go in the other room
or the basement
and make your noises there
or eat shit,
I don’t care.”

“It’s called music composing, honey
and it’s what puts the food on the table.”

“You’re really doing this now,
Mr. Music Man.
I’ll leave you to it then,
I can’t stand
your artistic eccentricities.
I really hope this one
doesn’t end with you in
a mental institution again.”

“It was just one time,
I have this one under control”

“Are you sure?
Are you sure, that Mickey Mouse
the filthy clown
is not back again
and making you eat shit
to complete your song?
It was just a cockroach dammit!
the reason, your pages
fell off the table that night
and what did YOU say, yeah, that you saw,
silver eyes chuckling
just above your desk,
like in some horror movie!
Babe, you were off your knocker.
And what else you said that night,
yeah, that Mickey Mouse
with a sickle dipped in rum
was standing by the mirror
when you went to the bathroom
and he told you that if you eat
your own shit, he’ll make
your sunset song complete for you.”

“This one’s different,
it’s all there, hon.”

“If YOU say so.”

“Although, this one’s about sunsets too
but that’s just because
I know how much you love them.”

She just looked at him
a slight frown creasing her brow.

“I’ll take my guitar
and stuff to the basement.
Baby, you sleep tight.
Sweet dreams.”

“All of a sudden,
I’m not that sleepy.”

“All right, then.
I can write it here
and you can listen.”