Some of the new “city cars” remind me
of a super small clown car
that’s supposed to hold an impossible
number of clowns inside.
My bank account was empty
And my ride was ‘bout to fail
So I went down to the circus
Where the clown cars were on sale.
A salesman with a big red nose
Was making lots of deals
On a lot of little tiny cars
With little tiny wheels.
“I think,” he said, “this car’s for you.
It has a lovely horn
And it’s brand new from the factory—
The seats are barely torn.”
Then, seeing I was skeptical,
He said, “Let’s take a spin.
Just stand right here and hold your breath
Until I zip you in.”
We rumbled ‘round the circus lot
With four more folks inside
(As well as fifteen blue balloons
And a seal dressed like a bride).
“And why are all these people here?”
I asked. The salesman drawled,
“You can’t have lots of legroom
If you got no legs to haul!”
The dealers said they’d keep them all
Except one guy named Jack;
They said his presence was required
In case I had a flat.
I didn’t buy the clown car, though;
Besides a faulty clutch,
That stupid horn was far too sharp
And the rhino ate too much.