1 Poem by
Chris O'Carroll
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SERIOUSLY THOUGH, FOLKS
(SEPTEMBER 11, 2001)
At last, an unobstructed harbor view.
That was the punchline I wrote as I watched
An edifice of dust drool down the sky,
Watched one more gang hijack the name of God,
Cook up a smoky brew of human blood,
And ink the air with glyphs of true belief.
Are jokes uncalled for at a time like this?
The man who wants me dead for being born
Where I was born reads ornery but real;
The chief of my tribe postures hollow, false,
Pipsqueak carjacker of the Prezmobile,
Dauphin adrift in moral vacancy.
Thus playful fortune spears me through the gut,
Transfixes me, and sets up this next gag:
I find it only hurts when I don't laugh.
In Shakespeare's greatest tragedy, a prince
Who wonders if he ought to take his life
Is, alone of all the tragic heroes,
Also a great clown role. I rest my case.
It would be fatuous to make the claim
That laughter can shift rubble, bind up wounds,
Quell all the yowls from other thugs of God,
But jokers are the only cards I hold.
My species is a many-headed clown
Refining high techniques to kill itself;
My merriment is not for uplift's sake.
Check out the unobstructed harbor view.
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