My Laugh is Taller than I’ll Ever Be
A poem about laughter we all need to hear
My laugh
is the only laugh you hear in a comedy
club. It sits in the front row
blocking your view, looming
several inches above
me, because god knows,
my laugh is bigger than my 5 foot, 1 inch body.
Many find my laugh shockingly heterogenous.
Sometimes
it’s a percolating,
piping tea kettle
spitting steam from its screeching spout. Or
a heavy metal guitar,
even though I hate heavy metal music; it makes my brain bulge.
Hearing it is easy,
I guess listening takes more brain power.
I’ve noticed my laugh
is more pleasant
in Spanish, more
tame. Or maybe
jokes are just better said
in English.
If my laugh were a person it would
never
go to parties.
It would be the ugly friend, the unphotogenic friend,
the friend who photoshops their zits off their instagram posts.
It feels like my laugh
is always sick.
Its exasperated H’s search for air.
It’s like my eczema, itchy and incurable
even after spending hundreds
of dollars on a dermatologist, on
serums, on
lotions, on
oils.
My laugh is more proactive than yours.
It’s there before anyone else is.
Before the punchline. And it lingers
around
patiently.
Unapologetic.
My laugh is always
the last one to hang up
the phone.
