poem

 Unintentional Comedy

Most funny people know very well how funny they really are. Laughter is the necessary dopamine jolt they gerrymander monologues into resembling. They barely have to work for it; in fact, the effortlessness is the very oxygen that makes it possible. For life to remain endurable, laughter is essential. The best comedians take their calling very seriously. They are always the first ones to laugh. Fight or flight is one instinct. Laugh or die is the other. There are also some funny people who don’t realize they are funny. Not that they are “laughed at”, out of malice for some unearned physical or psychological malady. They are actually "funny", in the witty, sophisticated urbane sense. You could put them on stage, extemporaneously, and before too long the entire audience would be chair writhing in raucous pleasure, tears in the eyes, in the eyes. These unintentional comedians have no idea what everybody is laughing at. But they do recognize laughter as a common social cue for expressing approval and admiration---- always a useful currency to bank for later. So they keep up the schtick, the way the peacock will instinctually splay its brilliant coral reef feathers because, hey, it always seemed to work for my ancestors. Good for the lineage. Broken hearted introverts weeping at the loss of the disinterested lover who is simply satisfied to know he is desirable. Nothing these comedic geniuses say strikes them as particularly funny or even amusing. Stories about canceled trips to the candy cane garden or rambling journeys beyond the realm of unnecessary distinction all seem so trivial and mundane. Always on the verge of apologizing for wasting their time, which just makes them laugh even harder. His comedy is merely logical. It is a biological necessity. On the inside he feels a great sadness. In fact he is crying. On the outside it’s all deadpan. He’s the only one in the room not laughing.

9/15/24