the slip in poetry

Galaxies move in space, y’know.
A long time ago,
our galaxy WAS far far away
from where our galaxy is now.
You know, from a
certain point-of-view.

Buster Keaton’s house falling down around him,
leaving him unscathed,
is only funny if you’re a person.
Consider the house’s perspective.
Ka-boom.

Someone slipping on a banana peel
is only funny if you’re human.
If you’re a banana,
it’s a goddamned horror show.
If you’re a banana,
it’s a goddamned snuff film.
If you’re a banana,
it’s a weekend rental of “Faces Of Death”
from a video store in nineteen-eighty-nine.
It’s only for a person,
that it’s all a laugh.

For a child,
pretending there’s a Tooth Fairy
is a profitable whimsy.
For the tooth,
it is a confusing abduction.
Ripped bloody from
the only home you’ve ever known
thrust into darkness
held hostage in exchange
for maybe like a dollar bill
and then put in a memory chest
no one will ever look at.
But hey for a child,
it’s all money and magic.
As long as you’re not the tooth.

Consider your perspective
before you come to a conclusion.
Objects in the mirror may be
closer than they appear.
Karmic comeuppance
might be terribly near.
Someday, you will
be the banana peel.
For real, for real.