sense of humor
It isn't funny to imitate
my tears
or whisper about my rendezvous
from tree to tree
with gray clouds laughing
endlessly
It really isn't funny
I don't laugh at you
When you are heavy winds
thundershowers passing through
Low to mid-forties
I am unamused
when the leaves chase each other
desperately,
like me
swirling counterclockwise, head down
and the sky is lit wildly
occasionally
I'm not moved
I respect your eloquence
so couldn't you at least
understand my neglect
and not get me wet
when my umbrella broke
My clothes are soaked
and all I ever wanted was
a cigarette?
-poetry two assignment six
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