Haiku Sonnet: The Big Top

As a child, I saw
just one circus, a show whipped
by snaking roads and
tired of carrying
itself between towns like ours.
The ringmaster roared
with boredom, his voice
ripped from rotten canvas. As
his wife—stuffed in sequins—
prepared to climb an
elephant, he pulled her stool
too soon. She fell and
broke her leg. The show ended—
her sharp cry so real.