Fumbled Grammar

I nodded through the tangled joke,

smiling when I didn’t poke

holes in the story they spun fast,

as if confusion was an act to cast.

Coffee cooled beside my pen,

scribbles blurred what I didn’t ken.

Behind eyes, a quick retreat—

pretending small makes failing neat.

The punchline landed like a stone,

sinking deeper, all alone.

Better silent, less the shame,

than reveal the gap in game.

So I smiled, yes, just smiled,

a passenger for once, mild,

while the words just slipped and slipped—

truth ignored, like fingertips.