Do I Look Like a Comedian

Do I look like a comedian? Because I’m walking down the street and this guy comes up and claims “Hey, I got a good routine for you,” something like that, and then a pause, and says “Fat Cop Relief Fund.” And I’m like, ~It’s got a promising ring to it, but no thanks man.>

Next he’s “What, you too good for me?:”

~It’s not about being too good for you, I don’t even know you.> I reply. ~I’m too good for that. I’m not doing that kind of material.>

He’s like “yYeah I hear you . Cool. I got something better for you, though: yYou go after the firefighters!”

!~ Lord, man.> I say , no one touches the firefighter stuff; everyone loves their local Fire Station crew. I go after the firefighters, my whole act goes down in flames.>

And he laughs and I say, really,  ~See, I got my own material. Thanks.

And besides, Brigade.>

“What?” he asks.

~Brigade, not Fund. I would change it to Relief Brigade.>

And he says, ‘‘‘‘‘man that’s on, that’s something completely different.” And I nod with a casual lack of modesty – which is a shameful spin on immodesty, honestly – and go on my way as he turns back in his direction.

Then / though / I start thinking, what’s with this guy? He trying to sell me something? Trying to sell me jokes? Need money?

I’ve never seen him before, couldn’t tell anything about him except that he’s responsible – he was all masked up for Covid and this was a serious mask, covered his whole lower face, and he even rocked goggles. I couldn’t tell anything about this person. Couldn’t tell his age, couldn’t racially profile him to tie that into the bit he was peddling – could nearly have been a lady for all you could tell, the way the mask muffled the voice.

See, here’s the thing., : It was just a nose, and mouth, all masked up, floating up the street; and the goggles – I am pretty sure there were eyes behind the goggles.

So then I glance back to get another look and now it’s everything but the nose and mouth and for sure no eyes, all dressed to kill. And I think, ~Well now that’s hilarious.>

Return of Casting

 He sat patiently

anticipating the return of the casting of spells;

his big break:

they'd see what a wizard he was.

The landline rang,

secure against air mystics

but susceptible to the ground wiles.

Suddenly his skin was burning.

They'd tricked him with science!

But his timing was barely off.

In a fortnight spells were trending as he'd hoped.

He shook off the diagrams and calculations.

He smashed the vile.

and he turned his mind to magic.

Perfectly everything stopped; 

he had executed the Weaving of the Wrenches.

But none were not paused / nary an active soul there was to know it. 

And when he unwove it expertly, with a thought, none felt the awakening —

all was merely as it had been, none the wiser. None, save his familiar: a

marsupial he'd

invented

  back when he

wore a lab coat.

Cruel mastery, hiding its own magnificence, 

said the familiar's eyes.