Capacity

Trussed up and painted garishly,
what act will it perform?
Some circus act of trickery?
We aren’t even warm.

It can’t help that it looks like this,
perched on a hatbox stand.
It badly wants to take a piss,
not wait for some command

it couldn’t possibly obey;
it lacks the smallest skills:
can’t wriggle through a hoop or play
a banjo, whistle trills.

All it can do is blankly sit –
and watch you as you strain
to wait for some small sign of wit
that might just entertain.

Sometimes, when I will look at you –
and you will look at me –
we’ll similarly misconstrue
our own capacity.

.