Balthazar Baraccus
From the 2005 Creative Journal
Words and Music by John Compton
the clock’s hands were stuck at a quarter to nine
because I have been there for hours, watching the line
of carnival bodies, speaking in rhyme
and remembering the place – only empty
behind the shadows of her mask, she cast a ghost-like glance
while pointing her finger in a fiery dance
up until then I was owing to chance, but
my debt was deeper than what she lent me
the county officials, they all hovered in smoke
but I was getting nervous, I was all out of jokes
so I mentioned the caskets were all coming a float
they said the town had no connection with the rain
the parlor games were all mixed up with smiles
so I stood in the corner, hiding my trials
saying I hadn’t seen that one coming for miles
they pretended not to notice and kept playing
the girls of gloom were all spinning their wheels
smelling the wine and digging their heels
saying I really couldn’t understand how it feels
and that’s where we came to an agreement
the boys of summer, had all returned
with fine looking signatures, ready to earn
their name etched on a golden urn
which only the winner could claim to invent
when the guest of honor darkened the door
drinking Champagne, then while asking for more
struck a familiar pose on the floor
saying hold your applause for the encore
Balthazar Baraccus lifted his sweet Champagne
spinning in place, set the applause a flame
but I was out the window, checking for rain
when Balthazar said he handled all predictions
