Slapstick and roadkill

Slapstick and roadkill

Eyes water, stomachs hurt

Bladders empty prematurely

Sliding down from a seat

Rolling in the aisles

Dissolving into tears of joy

But to describe laughter as side-splitting

Is a stretch too far

When the reality would be appalling

A body lies broken on the grassy verge

Insides exposed bloody and ruined

Sticky, warm life draining into a ditch,

Starkly dark against the muted colours

Of the hedgerow

Where is the humour in that?

Invisible suffering when there is no one

To bear witness

Is there any pain without impact

Do we need to see the blood

To believe in sadness

Look at the bright side of tragedy

Sitting in a high backed chair

Leaning into the darkness

Looking out from a window

With the lights out

Gazing into a grey world sight unseen

Counting cars

Giving names to the old crows

Standing in a line

Communicating sorrow without blinking

Bedraggled tomcats hiding under the bushes

Waiting for marsupials to forget

Their manners

Joining forces with the alleycats

To have some fun

Should they be wearing bells

To even up the odds?

Nothing really matters if you are roadkill

Laughing like a drain

As a protective measure

When it would be easier to cry

How cruel it is when hollowed out

Too many people live in doubt

Puzzled at the meaning of a pig in a poke

To realise they were the butt of a joke

Standing in the rain

At a graveside

Sombre with grief

Recalling a funny story

Laughing out loud

As the soil is cast upon the coffin

Doubled over with embarrassment

Crippled in release

Becoming lost in the irony

Of morbid curiosity as an escape

From reality

When nobody else hears the punchline

The last one laughing

Can end up with a bloody nose,

Where’s the fun in that