Rebecca K. Reynolds

Honest Company for the Journey

The Punchline

If I am the punchline,
the fly in the plastic ice cube,
that guy who slips on a banana peel,
or Sylvester smashing his face into a wall;

If I am the duckbill platypus
or the Mulligan Stew
thrown together from leftover parts;

If I am the duct tape 
holding the bumper on a navy '97 Corolla,
the R.C. Cola bottle
half full of tobacco juice;

let me stand even so 
with two hands and one heart wide open,
willing to let whatever great, high humor this is
be brought full circle.

Should I be Yorick,
fellow of infinite jest
whose dry, fool skull is tossed back out of the earth
to make one last, best chuckle,

the sky will still crack
and this ache in my lungs
will still soften, 
and I will still be collected to myself
slap my knee,
fold in half with wet eyes
and laugh and laugh,
because I will have caught the joke.