Laughter
Philip Schultz

One night my father yanked a tablecloth

from under my face & plates spun like meteors

as he wrapped it over his shoulders & his bald head lit up

like a pumpkin as he waltzed my mother round our crooked house

& tears soaked my collar & my stomach jumped into my mputh

as they flew chair over sofa & the world was a moment so full of us

I think of the Samurai playing with a daisy as he waits for his enemy

& only the daisy & the bright summer sun in his smile & I ask you

if at a time like this you would wonder if there was a beginning or end

with angels gathering on the roof to fear such loud tearing

at the fiery curtain of human delight.