Discovering My Allergy to Scallops

‘You don’t want to end up like me,’
the man on stage screeches.
Laughter unstoppable now, like
a falling body embracing gravity.
‘I’m serious. Why is that funny?’
I feel three hundred people’s heat

so I shift outside my self, ceiling
too low, too close, I can’t climb far,
watch myself from above, stumble
past seated and slumped patrons
into the comfort of a dark aisle
‘It wasn’t that bad, was it?’
I hear far below, carried upwards
on the whistle of cold air
before heavy auditorium doors
swing open, release me in a rush.

I pull up now, seeking space
my head a dot below as I fly.
Bald patch not as bad as I thought
The world retreats to silence

a woman speaks in gusts and squalls
pull the ripcord in my head
catch an updraft, higher now,
float in a sea of absence

a person collapsing below
distant panic and laughter