My daughter wants a lighter poem from me!
And so I search to find my funny-bone.
My humerus, when hit, is not with glee;
There’s pain behind the painted face that’s shown.
I never found the Stooges-Three much fun;
I scoff and sulk; my boredom’s not allayed.
The pie shoved in the face of those who run
seems just another silly escapade.
A ‘laugh-clown-laugh’ demeanor my pure dirge;
leaves me upon the verge of streaming tears.
Pagliacci and myself with drama, merge
and so, to true life is my art sincere.
Commedia del’Arte fails encore:
I am no Kramer sliding through the door.