a penny flattened and warped by a train
pulverized into a practical guitar pick
a cork, soggy and purple
next to a broken wine bottle
the absence of nervous secretions
humidifying the air between their palms
his ringing laugh
that leap frogs among the wooden rafters
it is what it is
and if it isn't love
they couldn't care less

the janitor's worn corduroy pants
webbed holes in his occupied shirt
where respectable elbow pads should be
sweeping up new-born dust
leaving behind the dissipating sound waves
from the click of his black boots
a laugh that comes from the belly
the center of gravity
of hilarity
wheels turning under a heavy weight
living and dying
next to and among everything else

tangled shoe strings dyed grey with recess
comics read and re-read
his honest questions
that come from an ageless infantile wonder
that deserve answers which are not false
an inward glow of limitless possibilities
an explosion from his young lungs and mouth
tells of automatic and pure amusement
the genesis, the Big Bang of a hearty laugh
he eats supper, every food group
but puts his foot in his mother's mouth
when she tries to say
that faeries don't clean the dishes

10/25/2011

Posted on 10/26/2011
Copyright © 2024 Amy Manning