This comedy thing plays out clearly
In the down of your throat, the way
You walk and talk in fits in yourself
Flies abuzz, your red scarf waving.
This morning we walked briskly
Explaining these things to ourselves
Our hands quickly went up in the air
Our throats cleared in anticipation
Nothing came save a guttural sound.
Since nobody laughed at our joke-
A two rupees joke on the cell- phone-
We sat deeply on the foundation,
As our legs dangled in empty space
Through the waving grass of the breeze
Showing bits of sunrise behind the hill.