The Man With A Jack-in-the-Box For A Head

Yet another older poem of mine.


There was a man,
Who wished he was dead,
Since he had a Jack-in-the-box,
For a head.

One day the man,
Whose head was a toy,
Went to the shops,
And met a small boy.

The kid said, ‘Oh wow,
That really rocks,
That man’s head,
Is a Jack-in-the-box!’

The boy then stamped,
On poor Jack’s feet.
With a kick in the shin,
Jack fell on the street.

‘No, little boy,
I beg you, stop!’
But the kid turned the crank,
And the weasel went pop.

What popped out,
From the strange man’s head,
Was a sight that filled,
The young boy with dread.

It was a giant clown,
Its face ugly as sin,
With burning red eyes,
And a wide bloodstained grin.

‘Kid,’ Jack said,
‘You better run away screamin’,
Because you’ve just released,
My personal demon!’

The evil clown laughed,
And held out a gun,
‘Come now kid,
Let us have some fun!’

The kid screamed really loud,
And then ran away,
Said the clown,
‘I’ll get him another day!’

Jack growled at the clown,
And then closed his lid,
Ashamed that he terrified,
That poor little kid,

Jack went back home,
And he cried and cried,
Because the evil clown,
It came from his mind.


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