There is no other, with the same oomph,
At least not now that’s come along.
Those shoes were lengthy and wide,
So far-flung, extreme, and beyond
Our tepid grasp of the funny side.
When wit ascends from such living
And with it our down-turned lips
We take notice and are better for it;
Embraced in truth’s rampant laughter,
Held skyward by its power to amend.
I’m going to miss his words, all of them,
Like the world forgot how to converse.
As if our mouths have been sewn shut,
Unable to speak, pursed in eternal pucker.
Sealed tight and bleeding blamelessly,
Unmoving, wide-eyed and barefacedly.
Out there, somewhere, ready to stand-up,
Comedians and comediennes with fabulous wits
Prepared to make their voices known
Over the roar of loss of one of their own,
Ready to stand in the bright glow of titillation,
Atop the reverberating ground of merriment,
With eyes wide open, unflinching, fearless,
Prepared to deliver the brilliant lines we crave.
We call to you! Stand-up! Lug our heavy light
across the stage! Strike our mouths without mercy!
Again and again! Burst our lips in laughter!
© 2008 mrp/tpm
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