Today's prompt. The poem I want to share with you today is "Bay Window Lauds" by Marcus Wicker.
pun's worth was rock bottom, rarely seen at scenes worthy of rollicky
rolls on the ground, screams of surprise disguised as laughter. No, pun
was passé, past his prime. left behind, unable to find a guise worth
gussying up. reinvention was out of the question. pun was past tense.
the shakes gave way to tall tremors. gone werethe times of trembling-
he had to get right with the god of humor: pitiless, unblinking, a deity
worth its wait in circus peanuts, fifteen dollar well drinks, dripping with
irony and indifference. sometimes sporting a crown, other times a "smart"
beret. the god of odd things. the god of oblong observations, old ministrations
pointed pontifications, stern cynicism.
pun dreamed a laughter invincible. steeled
by the sweet soundtrack of actual pleasantry, absolute in its entropy. destructive,
undeniable, unrelenting. pun played with his wares, said his joke rosary, and hoped
his future was not stuck in the past.
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