His Kind of Funny
He was funny, although he wasn’t
The kind of funny that people
Immediately noticed. He liked
To remain in the background,
As if, exhausted, he had just hiked
A great distance and arrived
At this house, this party, by accident.
His sense of humor was not contrived.
He listened to what people said,
And then took it a bit further, like
Squeezing an orange almost as red
As blood. There was nothing left,
When he was done, but the absurdity of half
Baked ideas. His kind of funny was like the theft
Of something very precious, and very feeble.