Returning the Compliment

I’ve spent years and years on my computer staring at the screen, tapping on the alphabet; typing out a quirky poet scene. A thesaurus is the saving grace when this poet needs a sign, so in the end in my own mind, I get the perfect punch line. To me it seems to fix this world and cut its troubles into half, when I stand up and read my poems to try and make you laugh, and I reckon that the job I do is working pretty well, but there are times when things go wrong and someone gives me hell. The time that I recall as best for being given one ‘heave ho’, was at a hospital when asked to do a dozen poems or so. It was in a ward where everyone looked ninety years I’d say, and here I was right up the front, and trying to make their day. I tried some poems that I’d read down at the senior citz, and reaction there around the room had everyone in fits, but at the hospital, it’s like reciting to the dead. There’s not a grin; not a smirk, and not a word was said. And knowing what I have been told I had to change my tact. I rattled out a couple of jokes but not one patient did react, so I told some funny stories but these tales fell in a heap, with half the patient’s staring blank, and the other half asleep! So I went back reciting poetry to try and urge one little grin, then thanked them all for listening, even though my welcome’s thin, “I hope youse all get better soon” I said when I was through. One grumbled back a snide reply - “I hope you get better too”.