Eventually you find the joke that hurts

It's a museum
of injuries, he said,
laughing,
and I had to guess.

Bruiseum.

A museum of alcohol!
He stared expectantly.
I knew the answer,
but refused to say it.

I won't say it.

A monochrome museum—
no. I won't.
A museum of the Hebrew people—
please.
A museum of loss—

Okay. Okay. That one stopped me.
I know the pun.
Loseum.
We all got the pun.

But there was something more there.
This was a place
I wanted to go
just, you know, to see.

To see the things
I had lost.