what's there left to laugh about?

hands stuck in clay,
or phoebe bouffay,
rice pudding on your tie,
muffins that can cry,
a serious man on a bench
who falls in a pond and gets drenched,
mysterious eyebrow moves
and a 90 year old's grooves,
a knee cap wearing a mask,
or a head shaped like a flask.
so there comes a time to ask:


what's there left to laugh about?
you. and maybe sauerkraut.

New Poem

---> waiting for the desert <---

dinner started slowly

i just got my phone bill,

i flinched, it was gigantic

i shivered, felt a chill

tried not to think of desert

i took a sip of soup

the small talk seemed to matter

but things went in a loop

t'was i who couldn't listen

I wasn't anymore

my finergnails were crimson

i laughed and mimed a snore

obsessive was this desert

you didn't really count

i quickly drank my beer

the smell was all around

i felt you didn't matter

you tried to prove me wrong,

for me it didn't matter,

the smell was in my lung.

i keep it undercover

it's only i who knows-

i'm dying for this desert

but still the dinner goes

it's on and on, it's deadly

eternity is here

for me, my dear, i worry

i wish you'd let me be.

I've eaten all the courses

I've even eaten stew

It's nonsense how i've waited

My desert, just for you!

I don't believe in standards

i know not any rule

To me it's just my desert

That makes me feel i'm full.