The Punchline

If I am the punchline,

the fly in the plastic ice cube,

that guy who slips on a banana peel,

or Sylvester smashing his face into a wall;

If I am the duckbill platypus

or the Mulligan Stew

thrown together from leftover parts;

If I am the duct tape 

holding the bumper on a navy '97 Corolla,

the R.C. Cola bottle

half full of tobacco juice;

let me stand even so 

with two hands and one heart wide open,

willing to let whatever great, high humor this is

be brought full circle.

Should I be Yorick,

fellow of infinite jest

whose dry, fool skull is tossed back out of the earth

to make one last, best chuckle,

the sky will still crack

and this ache in my lungs

will still soften, 

and I will still be collected to myself

slap my knee,

fold in half with wet eyes

and laugh and laugh,

because I will have caught the joke.