Soon, tomatoes and eggs
were thrown at him.
He knew he wouldn’t earn much.
Ticket sales were poor.
But he guessed
the grocery shops
must be making a fortune.
So he thought,
maybe he should do more shows
in partnership with the groceries,
or open a grocery of his own.
He kept smiling,
kept laughing,
kept saying thank you
to the crowd booing him.
Though he couldn’t take the tomatoes home
to make his curry.
He thought his show
might be the second biggest
tomato throwing festival
after Spain.
He was glad it happened in the city.
Had it been in the village,
there would have been more tomatoes
on the stage.
He might be swimming
in a pool of tomatoes,
or slipping
and breaking his back.
So far,
he had escaped that fate.
He accepted all the hate,
while love remained trapped
in someone’s fishing net.
His show was a bait.
And his life
was yet to set.
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