The Joke's Aftertaste

He told it again, that old office gag.

About the intern, the shredded report.

His voice, a familiar, tired brag,

and me, nodding, playing the part.

But the punchline, usually so bright,

just landed flat, a hollow sound.

No laughter, not that genuine light,

just forced smiles, all around.

My coffee cup clinked against the desk,

a quiet echo in the stale air.

What was funny then, a crude grotesque,

now just felt heavy, hard to bear.

And I wonder what else we've misjudged,

what other stories, thin and gray.

How much of it, really, has been smudged?

That bitter aftertaste, won't go away.