by DAIZJHA
He’s laughing at the boy who spreads ketchup on his golden chicken.
His laughter’s thick and lofty, filling the room
with its sound, drawing the family’s attention
to the boy. The children join in the laughter,
for this tradition of eating chicken is foreign
and new. Smells of divine meats and vegetables
fill the home, overpowering this laughter.
Again it’s silent and the clang and cling
of silverware resumes.
He’s stuck his gaze on the boy as he eats his
meal and chuckles.
He’s cold yet warm.
He’s the hoe no the pickaxe in the shed.
His light’s dim and suspended in darkness.
He’s the beginning of the hurricane, the instant from calm to danger.
He’s a black onyx wrapped in silk and grunge.
He’s the canyon you wonder where it ends, where it begins.
He’s midnight where everything is hushed and silent but the people know
there are secrets in the dark.
But somehow this boy of weird taste brings out a genuine laugh,
a joyous smile.
A remarkable night.
It has been a while since he’s laughed this laugh
covered in dust and cobwebs from the months and years
of non-use. The family knows
this and they can only be grateful for
that night laughter has never struck that man
so hard he fell from his chair
holding that tiny belly. That night ended
with such beauty in one man’s laugh.