Funnyman In The Morning Poem by Stan Petrovich

As the dew settled
And I lay reaped with sadness
After another lousy day of distressed spiralling
And burst hopes;
I settlerd in my vile bed,
Then deciding to raise my weary head,
I remoted the TV.

A fellow of comedic standing
Was delivering dirty jokes
Hidden between the lines
Like Swift or Milton or Shakespeare,
Who all fell into hefty humour
When it came to the jokes
About VD, farting or holding a poop,
Uncontrollably.

My mood quickly abridged,
And, sitting up, I smiled
For the first time in weeks;
I was laughing well enough
As I wondered why the formerly suppressed,
The Hebrews, Blacks, the Native Americans
Were so damned funny,
While listening to this African-American,
His audience bending over in an almost hurtful
Embrace of delight.

By the time he had finished and the theater went dim,
Twilight was evolving out mt windows.
This day
This day
I will not hate or sob anymore.