life’s a joke if I could poke at myself
and dwell on swollen, misleading moments
that were rather painful than funny.
it is easier to act happy than to be mad
and tell all the words, bleeding into moments
of missed opportunities.
how brave I was to briskly pull a smile
return with wit and end with an anecdote.
that was the antidote
but when the confetti’s been swept
and tucked with dust under the bed
the smile wrinkles and the pun’s hurt.
the nail biting begins.
“return with wit and end with an anecdote.
that was the antidote”
