I have given up.


I know that's what they want,
The bureaucrats who giggle with glee
As they set the hoops ablaze,
Lining them up in a maze,
Each hoop higher than the last
And further--


So much further--
As their backlog continues to grow.


We pile like acrobats,
Though nothing as agile,
Mounds of weary bodies
Crushing one another while we wait
For the privilege of trying
A--not entirely impossible--
Flip through the next hoop
Hoping beyond hope for the rarest cheer,
A slap on the back from the ringmaster
And a big, fat check that reads


Social Security Administration,
Disability back pay.


But the ringmaster frowns.
"You did it upside down,
Your smile too proud,
The grimace of pain and the choked scream
When your hand touched the flames
Not loud enough.


"You're obviously fine
If you could handle that jump.
Go get a job, you lazy cunt,
So instead, you can pay us."


I heave a sigh
And turn to the highest hoop,
A lion named Wells Fargo
Nipping at my heels,
As I find my balance standing
On the hands of a family made of friends.


The one of blood
dropped me long ago.


I look to the strong man at my side;
He joined me two hoops back.
There's a crowd of them
On the edge of the ring,
Offering a helping hand only
To the ones who look broken enough.


They'll carry you through the maze,
Toss you through the higher hoops.
You only have to hold the barbell
With weights called Stress, Anxiety, The Wait,


And give them a cut of the check.


"The last hoop," I sigh.
"How long will it take?"
But my strong man's too busy
With another sad case.


His clown of an assistant
(She does most of the work)
Squints against the flicker
And glare of gas lights.
"It's hard to say,
But no more than a year."


I try not to blink
As the tears sting my eyes.
I first tackled this circus five years ago,
Faltering when no strong man
Would reach out a hand.
It's been three years since I joined up again.


"And the ringmaster?" I ask.
"What might she say?
Will we get the check
If I clear the hoop?
If at last someone sees
That I'm not able?"


The clown shakes her head.
"This ringmaster doesn't write checks.
She can only send you back,
Two hoops if we're lucky,
Same judge as before.
That, or it's all the way
Back to the start."


I nod my thanks, unable to speak
As the tears break
The barrier of my lower lashes.
Two hoops ago, it took six months
Just to learn when it would be my turn.


That ringmaster ignored my doctor
Who said I can work
Maybe two hours a day.


The employment expert
Waiting in the wings
Was also ignored
When she said no organ grinder
Would keep a monkey like me,
With how often I'd fail
To show up for the dance.


The next hoop was just as bad.
My strong man was late;
A couple more months in the bag.


Notes from my surgeon--
Which I had to get myself--
Explain the ticking time bomb
In the back of my head,
A nerve grown through muscle
Instead of around,
Hiding since my mother's womb,
Lying in wait 'til my twenties
Before making a sound.


If we'd found it earlier
Things might have been different.


The collection of ringmasters
At the next-to-last hoop
Remained unimpressed,
Despite my strong man
Pointing out the previous
Ringmaster's mistakes.


"What mistakes?" They asked,
Not waiting for a reply.
"Her decision was perfect.
Now get out of the way;
We've got to ruin the day
For a lot of other people."




I wipe away tears
As the clown walks away
And weigh my options.


My job didn't pay into the circus
When I could still work,
So I can't hope for the fatest check
That would let me live in basic poverty
Instead of well below abject.


I take my pocket computer
That does all my math
And do some calculations.
With the longest wait
Since my last application,
At the highest monthly rate,
If I manage to convince
The same judge as last time,
Minus the strong man's fee--


I'm looking at four and a half years
Of back pay totalling less
Than my old job paid per year.


I put down my phone
As my hands begin to shake
And the tears of despair
Heat with rage.
This is what I'm fighting for?
Less than most people's rent,
Not to mention the strings attached.


I've crunched these numbers before,
But in the face of another eighteen months--
Eighteen months of waiting,
Eighteen months of stressing,
Eighteen months of staving off creditors,
Eighteen months of minimal medical care,


Eighteen months of holding back tears
Every time I think,
This isn't fucking worth it.


And I realize
It isn't.
The circus isn't worth it.


I look to the people holding me up:
My family of friends,
My lover;
At the smiles as they say,
"Don't worry; we've got you."


I look at the woman
I want to be my wife
And realize
We don't have to wait,
Wait for laws to change,
For disabled marriage to finally be equal.


I finally realize
I'm okay,
And I'll be okay.


I can put down the barbell
And all of the weights;
I can step down from the balancing act,
Put my feet on the floor
And holding the hand of my fiancee,
Walk out
And leave the circus behind.


My strong man calls out;
I send him off with a wave.
The ringmasters smile in triumph,
But their smiles can't match
The joy of my own
As at last, I step into the light.