Leveler Poetry Journal
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The Auditions

The auditions disappointed me personally. All of the women could breathe fire. All of the men could disappear. Sharp knives available to juggle were too safe; china plates to be balanced on palms of dancers on ponies’ spines turned out to be unbreakable. After the applicants had gone home and I’d poured my bourbon, twin tiger cubs raced orangely toward me. They knocked me over with greetings. From the circus floor I cursed in a warm tone; Stupid Peace, I growled. Stupid Tenderness.

Sarah Green