Frank LaRonca

THE DEATH OF IRONY

My unicorn had given up its singular purpose
and was flipping channels to feel the oneness
of creation again, shopping for sequined dresses
from an armchair, choosing who to kick off the island
or out of the spotlight or to make out with
while the cameras keep rolling, our thoughts
superimposed in a speech bubble revealing
the meaninglessness of everything,
the semi-homemade meal, the
one-day home remodel.
Even though it took them longer
than they had initially projected,
the extinction of the species
was remarkably smooth,
one of those foregone conclusions
from the get go. What was funny
was the telethon where nearly
everyone in Hollywood pitched in
to try to save us. For weeks,
this variety ran round the clock,
declaring the death of irony
for the five or six of us still taking notes,
either for ourselves, but more likely
for an eventual screenplay.

—from Rattle #26, Winter 2006