A Clown Juggling Chainsaws

We all left the city behind. Some, through the GI tract.
And we trekked through the woods.
Without spook or attack.

Until at last, from the enchanted wood emerged.
To be greeted by a beardo:
"Come hither," he urged.

What to do? What to say?
I don't want to see what an overly friendly beardo thinks is neat.
I bet he's planning dinner,
and we're what he plans to eat.

Run away, or go and play,
the decision is kind of hard.
Pray beardo doesn't roast us...eyes closed, flesh charred.