Both Feet in the Punchline

Hollywood Roosevelt Archives

Both Feet in the Punchline

I don’t dip a toe into humor - I cannonball.

Both feet in the punchline,

socks still on, confidence inflated like a pool toy with opinions.

Subtlety waits on the diving board clearing its throat.

I have already leapt, knees tucked, grin reckless,

into the deep end of Did I just say that?

The joke blooms beneath me, a bright inflatable flamingo of timing.

I land slightly left of clever, splashing metaphors into the hors d’oeuvres.

Somewhere, nuance towels off quietly.

I tell myself this is commitment; no cautious tap-dance around the rim shot.

If there’s a rake in the yard, I will not sidestep it.

I will audition for it.

I will study its handle, admire its balance,

and then, with athletic sincerity, 

introduce my forehead.

The crowd laughs, or coughs,

or practices their blinking.

I bow anyway, soaked in my own bravado.

Because if you’re going to land, land loudly.

Let the water testify.

Let the rake have a story.

Both feet, friends.

If we’re falling, let’s at least make a splash worth quoting.

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This ekphrastic poem's title is the eleventh line from one of my earlier poems, that poem was made up of incomplete sentences, that somehow made great titles.

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©2026 Christopher Reilley 

 

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