Floating on a tiny line

Flickering under my feet, 20 feet above the crowd.

They gaze up in awe, boredom, fear, mockery. 

Overhead, the spotlight constantly shines on me, warming my skin,

The pole is steady in my hands, crossing my chest.

A flying tomato almost hits the pole but misses; 

Down below, they grow restless as the bicycle starts to move.

I continue to inch forward, slowly, my feet go up and down the pedals.

The bicycle is steady, then picks up in pace,

Even though I practice so hard to present myself as natural,

I can only deceive them for so long. 

My lower body roared, wailing to escape; 

I straightened my back and lifted my head high, 

The heat from the lights melting my vision into swirls. 

Each foot slowly pushes the pedals.

Ringmaster stood off to the side, eyeing me: dazzle them

Pressing the corners of my red lips upwards to

Radiate down on the onlookers, overwhelmed with admiration and wonder. 

Readjusting the pole so it's centered again-

I just have to make it through the middle now.

One hand in the air: keep the safety net up

I tilt my head upwards, the girl wheels her way to the middle 

Physically, she has done it, she just needs to get out 

I drop my hand, gasps erupt around me

All she has to do is keep moving.

And she does, poised, just like I taught her.

The dazzling madames of the tightrope, my revolutionary new show

None will see anything close to this one,

And the first act has to be simply perfect.

Her head drops suddenly, her bicycle hits a fray on the rope. 

She wails, flinging herself off the bicycle 

 And her body plunges to the ground,

Head first, the impact launches dirt into the air.

As the ground soaked her blood, I lit my cigar and walked over. 

She was all mangled up, but her tight red dress sparkled,

I hover over the poor girl. “That was an easy fix.

 You should have just kept pedaling, girl!”