FOR BILL

When Clowns die
They quietly
Pull up their stakes
And fold up their tents
To a symphony of crickets Under a million
weary stars
When all that is left of
The night
Are the echoes
Of gaiety,
The thunder claps of applause And perhaps
the forever memory imprint Of the one,
warm
Wonderful
daffy
rubbery
smiling face
of the clown.
With their work never done,
Into the night those clowns will gallop
On the backs of invisible
Rocking horses
With their gaily painted faces
and pretend swords
And bottomless optimism
Leading the charge
towards the unreachable stars
Whose grown-up windmills inform the child That Imagination

And make-believe
Are nothing but a curse. An excuse
For never growing up.
From the moment
that they are conceived
in the twinkle of an eye The good clowns
The kind jesters
The ones with crowns Made of daffodils
And finely powdered sugar Like our Bill
defy the laws
of logic
in the name
of a hearty
laugh
a practical
joke
and a pie hit
squarely in the
puss.
The enemy
Which is everything
That a young child learns
To fear
that quickly
Becomes
The secret and indelible
faith of the average
16 -year-old.
Is defeated in seconds
by the ancient samurai-like art
Of slapstick
With its bottles
Of seltzer
Juggling balls
And momentary
assurance
That there is nothing in the world That can harm us.

The clown
Asks for no
Mercy
Or thanks
For work done
Leaving the uninitiated to wonder, As he stampedes towards into
The dusty trail of that final sunset Who was that masked
Man?
Well if you were lucky enough To have had Bill Britten
As an acting teacher
As I did
You would have known the answer to That question.
He was a clown
Who never required
Makeup
A gentle man who
treated you
Like you
Were his disciple
who he was honored to know
Who labored
like an old-world tailor
to make sure that your own personal happiness fit you like
a fine suit,
With Bozo
In his
Rearview mirror It was easy
To dismiss Bill
As nothing more Than a WPIXie;
A lightweight children’s entertainer

(Which was a job, that Dr. Dyke, based Following a performance of a scene from Othello, once told me that I was ideally Suited for).
To fully understand who Bill was, All you have to do at
Is ask yourself:
When was the last time
That you encountered a man like him? The answer
Is never.
So let us band together We merry men and women Of PA
And doff our caps
And brandish our rings (We only need three)
And honor
A stilled voice
Which for now
Feels like the sudden Banishment of flowers Who once upon a time Taught us that good was Great
Smiles were currency And love
Will forever be
The only reason to live