Two teens heading into the woods to practice what they had learned in sex education class found him. Face up, fake red nose, bowler hat disturbed, over-sized daisy leering out of his pocket, size twenty-five shoes angled spitefully up. There were no visible damages. After the teens had gotten as far as lesson three, they fetched sterner citizens, explaining they innocently walked up on a clown expired. We all expect these things to happen. None of us knows how long clowns persist, or why they fail. If they had progressed to lesson five, the teens would not have noticed him.
Ken Poyner
Ken Poyner’s four collections of brief fictions, four collections of speculative poetry, and one mixed media collection, can be found at most online booksellers. He spent 33 years in information systems management, is married to a world record holding female power lifter, and has a family of several cats and betta fish. Individual works have appeared in “Café Irreal”, “Analog”, “Danse Macabre”, “The Cincinnati Review”, and several hundred other places.