The Comedian at a Funeral
Patrick Ryan Frank

I've seen this movie; I know how I should act:
politely quiet, distracted by my grief.
But grief's an act I haven't mastered yet.
In fact, I'm almost happy. Everything
is hilarious and everything is wrong:
an awkward hand on the back, the mother's hat,
the sister's low-cut dress. Her body bends
toward the body in its odd white casket
and I wonder what if somehow this
is the only hour of my life that I
will not be sad. Living is just a joke
that no one gets, and I can't get it right.
Some bad-breathed aunt leans over, asks me how
I'm holding up, but there's lipstick on her teeth.
When I open my mouth, the wrong sound falls right out.

©