Funny, Not Funny
Sometimes it's hard to laugh
Cheeks heavy with Quikrete
Too much of a lift
I‘ve read all the psychologists
There are only four valid reasons for anxiety:
One, not knowing what is about to happen.
Two, fear that performance won't match expectation.
Three, that you’ll be seen as you really are:
A fool, incompetent, boring, a dork.
And four, realizing that the only certainty is your own uncertainty
About anything, anyone, ever again
At least you won’t be able to doubt that
You're done with funny
It’s not even worth mourning
You’ve entered your spaced out
Lunar eclipsed nihilist goth phase
The sunflowers in the trash
Look like sleeping witches
I should spend more time in the garage
So much of my life
I simply am not awake
In the unlikely event I actually rouse
Myself from deep slumber
It never lasts
Sandcastles at high tide
This cube of sugar in my extremely hot tea
Am I breaking any new ground
Here or am I just, finally, seeing
What everyone else
Has been seeing all along?
On the way out of the grocery
With a haul of freshly pressed shirts
Slung over my shoulder like I’m Ward Cleaver
I notice a young man buying flowers
With an anxious grin on his damned face.
(The goof, as if she wouldn’t like them)
So, sure enough, there I am, stuck
In the floral line with a bouquet of garish bellflowers
Hours away from turning into baby
Gargoyles who will require frequent naps
As I’m leaving I pass an old guy
With a face like hydrangeas
He looks at me, sees my flowers
And bellows out “what did you do?”
And the corners of my mouth rise
Ever so slightly, but lightly,
For the first time all night
And I say: “this time I killed her”
With a nicely timed wink
And I smile and, after a beat, he laughs his way
Into the realm of the perpetually unjudged
And I keep walking, laughing, walking, laughing
And pretty soon I’m the only one in the whole world still laughing.
From this perspective
Everyone looks so sad.