The clown returned home to his house after nine,
Faced with a night on his own, drinking wine.
A knock on the door brought a quick change of plan.
He thought that it might be his mother and gran.

So he was surprised to see Melanie there,
His beautiful neighbour. Her visits were rare.
The clown was delighted. He asked her to enter
And silently thanked the great forces that sent her.

In his living room a pin's fall could be heard.
She took off her coat without saying a word.
While he did his best to compose basic prose
She held up and smelled the one red plastic rose

That stood in a vase on the table beneath
A painting depicting an old naval fleet,
Ships on rough seas with the wind in their sails.
Their sailors are vessels for rum and tall tales.

She put the rose back in its vase and she said,
"I've so many thoughts fighting wars in my head.
I need to bring peace, a permanent pause
To cat-like ideas extending their claws."

The clown couldn't speak. He smiled at her face,
Thankful to have this peculiar case.
He didn't know why she was talking to him
While outside the light of the evening grew dim.

She could have been anywhere other than there.
She could have gone off to a bar with her hair.
His mental detective was looking for clues.
His long snake-like laces in over-sized shoes

Slithered away while his brain was obsessed
With figuring out how he came to be blessed.
He started to think that he'd really been cursed.
The times labelled 'best' often merged with the worst.

Triumphs soon turned into crushing defeats.
The bottomless black depth of night often beats
The daylights right out of his battered old soul
And makes him consider a job as a troll.

He wondered if she'd come to stab him and steal
His set of gold cups even though they're not real.
When he was exploring these thoughts he could hear
The odd word or two as she spoke of her fear

Of being alone late at night when she wakes.
To conquer her terror she gets up and bakes.
She makes countless nocturnal cakes every week.
Icing a cake before dawn can be bleak.

And then she went on to describe how she's bored
With most of the music that she once adored.
She hates her new job and her boss makes her sick.
She thinks that most people are hopelessly thick.

The clown realised that she meant him no harm
And he wouldn't need to switch on his faint charm.
She just needed someone to talk to, and he
Would gladly provide this good service for free.

She spoke till she looked down and saw something odd.
The slithering laces made her scream to God.
She jumped in the arms of the clown and they fell
Back on his couch. She said, "Call me Mel."

They stayed on the couch and she spoke about how
Her handbag was eaten by her cousin's cow,
And why she's afraid of some kids' TV shows.
They're like manic demons in ribbons and bows.