There were times,
There were times,
Before,
When he laughed without regard
For appearances
His whole body shook with joy
The sound bubbling up
Like a freshwater spring
Growing into a mountain stream,
Tumbling over rocky outcrops
Gathering pace
As it grew into a river.
A cataract of falling water
Pooling into a bottomless well
Infinite pleasure
Total immersion,
As his sides heaved
Completely unravelled.
He popped a button that way
Sheered it right off
From the collar
He never wore that shirt again
It was too restrictive
Chafing his neck
She had never liked him in it anyway
They had laughed about it then
Although it didn’t cost anything
He has paid a high price since.
He always bought flowers,
A mixed bunch
He chose them well
They were never offered in peace
He just liked pleasing her.
She had never asked
There was no need
It was his pleasure.
The sound of an empty room
Filled him with dread
A mindless hysteria
Bouncing off the walls
An echo chamber
An empty theatre
An auditorium with an audience
Of one.
The insanity of it
A clown, in sad-face
Haunted by silence,
Mourning
The death of laughter