Sitcom

I experience sitcom reruns,

like chewing gum

that’s been chomped on 

so long 

that the original 

juicy flavor is gone.

I've memorized the jokes

the set-ups,

the pauses, 

the punch lines,

the musicality of 

the canned laughter.

They take me back 

to my childhood,

to the days before 

I had responsibility.

I wasn't a street kid,

but more a shut-in

who mostly listened, 

and the sounds 

imprinted themselves

on my soul.

They were comforting then

and they still are

comforting now. 

When I hear the voices of 

Fred Sanford, 

Archie Bunker, 

Rhoda Morgenstern,

Ralph Kramden,

I am

immediately 

transported back 

to my 

parents' house,

where it was

warm and safe and 

simmering pans birthed

comforting smells

and my parents 

were somewhere in that house

doing all the worrying 

for me.

I still love my sitcoms

but wonder whether

I learned the wrong lessons:

that I should try and be 

funny all the time 

every few seconds,

that I should look

for quick problem solving

as most can be resolved 

in 23 minutes, 

or in the rarest of cases,

over a two-parter.

But I know

if a dire situation arises 

and I must become 

serious,

I don't panic:

I just become Hawkeye

in the later seasons of M*A*S*H,

and suddenly

I become sensitive,

with appropriate sincerity,

intelligence

and remarkable wit,

generally, a simulacrum 

of an adult, 

and everyone believes me.

[Posted for @OpenLinkNight for www.dversepoets.com - the best site for poetry in the world.]