do i cross your mind?
as my jests leave your lips,
do you find yourself uneasy — or the tiniest bit sick?
maybe you fear my judgement,
were i to appear a table over
quietly observing the demise of my own wit
as it is repackaged.
i would notice how your friends find my gag oh so amusing,
their heads flung back, knees slapped
do you watch and feel proud?
all those stories you're using,
like half of me is for safe-keeping, and the rest for abusing.
and i’d tear up at second hand laughter
because it wasn’t for them at all– no,
they were for you.
meticulously crafted bits.
has my effort gone unnoticed?
but i’m happy- no i’m happy!
that they’ve found a half-decent home in your vocabulary
for i would ne-ver utter them again,
oh god no, knowing what has become of them.
that newfound american inauthenticity,
that bitter taste lingering
after i attempt to repeat.
so i will sit and grieve the late parts of my humour,
the giggles under sheets, a door left ajar.
you’re not nearly as funny as you think you are.