That When I am Serious

Was it not obvious?
Did you not feel the pull of your leg?
Is my hair so white?
—my face so straight?
Do I look like a cop?
—or like your too-stern uncle?

That When I am Serious

Bob Komives

From the more quiet restaurant
you poke your ear into the stage room.
I see your interest,
—your hesitation.
I see you drawn to the music,
—tempted to enter full-body.
I know this strain of ambivalence.
Hoping to ease your strain
I issue quiet invitation:
— “Come in!”
— “Sit down!”
— “Enjoy!”
You smile and say:
— “I must study.”
— “I must study.”
“But, studying is prohibited,” I say,
expecting your smile to broaden
before you  retreat as you must to your books.
But, no,
in shy protest you say:
— “They said we could.”
— “They said we could.”
 

How depressing!
You thought I thought I knew what I was talking about.
Do I look authoritative?
—authoritarian?

I know comedian must always accept blame when comedy is lost.
I do apologize.
Yet, for a moment, let me protest.

When I am absurd you find me serious.
Please accept part of the blame.
—or, better—
Please rid me of my fears.

I fear
that when I am serious you will laugh,
I dread
that when I am earnest you find me absurd.

Bob Komives :: Fort Collins © 2008 :: That When I am Serious :: 0805