Autumn-colored flame leaps

from barber-pole birthday candle

to purple afro wig; trickles

down greasepaint to

ruffled polyester collar

and baggy rayon suit

(rainbows and smiling stars

against a shimmering orange field),

which shrink-wraps the powdered torso

before dripping like napalm

onto gigantic shoes.

The air — thick with screams and sirens;

chemical stink, burned hair, carbonized pork —

rings with laughter

for the first time today

as the children dance

around a charred

red

rubber

nose.