When we first went into our houses
we’d go to the window and wait
for life to do that human thing
and improve. When it refused,
we turned to the wall, so as not
to bear witness to nothing
but bad news.
Which is where we started
to let ourselves down.
If I end up in hospital,
I expect my friends to joke.
They don’t have go all in – sucks to die
without a girlfriend – but I’m balding,
bad with a hammer, scared of the dark –
plenty to work with.
The dance of life goes:
world says ha,
we say ha ha,
it says ha ha ha,
and the first to blink
loses.
The jokes themselves
don’t matter – the punchline’s
always I love you – what matters
is the laughter continues.
Not to annihilate the reality of the suffering,
but to cherish the reality left.
I want friends strong enough
to put the last rites of my joy ahead
of how hard it’d be for them
to look and laugh, and to look and laugh
anyways. I want friends who will always
go to the window.