Bianca McCowat Poetry

I didn’t mean for it to turn out this way
A simple joke that was not funny
The truth crouches beneath it
Jokes become havens for truth
So much distress when the joke
Slowly dies away

Jokes get old and over used
It’s impossible to forget the look on the
Face when the truth is exposed rudely,
It’s not called naked truth for nothing
Imagine if you were to all lie about
Your jokes
If you were pretending everything’s true
Would there be war? Would we die?
Possible is an everyday word
Like joke
And yolk.

Poet: Bianca McCowat