There was still something

There was still something

In his eyes.

The face had collapsed

In on itself.

Deep creases that were etched

With the stain of defeat,

Inked in with sweat and dirt.

The nose carried a fine map

Of blood red veins.

And his ears were just

One cauliflower short of

A full box.

But his eyes,

Though deeply set

Still carried a rheumy twinkle,

Beneath the crinkle

Of the folded lids.

And as he smiled,

Everything began to shake.

Crockery rattled,

The surface of my coffee

Rippled,

A forewarning

Of something coming.

Not a tsunami

But a passing of gas.

The biggest,

And loudest,

Raspberry I ever heard.

All fresh air was blown

Out of the room.

It could have felled a canary.

Flushed faces turned green.

The table flowers withered.

The candles died.

And the milk curdled in the jugs.

Nobody could breathe,

Until he laughed

And broke the spell.

Everybody else laughed as well

And it brought us all to tears

In the end.

An extraordinary smell,

Ripe enough to peel

Grease from walls

And lift us off our seats.

Including the old man

Who was laughing

Quite wickedly

As he got to his feet,

Shook out each

Baggy trousered leg

In a Chaplin-esque mime

And then took his own

Less than sweet time

To shuffle out,

The smell

Still in its prime.

He turned at the door,

Winked and broke wind

Just once more

Before he finally turned on his heel

And left,

The highly perfumed scene,

Of the crime.