Class Clown

My father was a comedian.

I am the daughter of a class clown
Funny, though, how things work out.

In high school,
he was the one who made
everyone laugh
and everyone liked him—
some even loved,
but pretended to hate for protection.

I am the daughter of one of those men
who thinks every time
is a time for joking
and gathers every laugh
as if it were a precious stone.

I have liked boys such as this
who, unknowingly
go in the footsteps
of my father and many others
before him,
who smile and cheer;
laugh at their own jokes
to encourage others
to do the same;
who take each half grin
as a sign to go on
in their comedic exploitation
of themselves and others.

I say this is all quite
funny
because, well–
I am not.
Not the type to make others laugh,
I smile at my own jokes
for others wouldn't understand.

Dad did not endow me
with the talent for making
others smile.

But that's alright—
it was his gift to give.