The Conversation
He knows his laugher is reflexive,
often inauthentic,
a need to agree or
a way to paint clowns on speech bubbles.
Overused words, trite meaningless words
are tossed back and forth.
It's a conversation, a convention or
a blank-firing discussion.
"I must be going."
Words hang like luminous finger bones.
Later reviewing in his mind
what had been said,
witty ripostes are invented,
inserted.
Finer points of fine points honed.
He shuffles magnetic phrases
on a whiteboard between his eyes.
He begins to cough - a yak spasm.
His only remedy
is to keep talking to himself
as if the other person were still listening.
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