They have spent theircontent of simpering,holding their lips thisand that way, windingthe lines betweentheir brows.
Old folksallow their bellies to jiggle like slowtambourines.
The hollersrise up and spillover any way they want.
When old folks laugh, they free the world.
They turn slowly, slyly knowingthe best and the worstof remembering.
Saliva glistens inthe corners of their mouths,their heads wobbleon brittle necks, buttheir lapsare filled with memories.
When old folks laugh, they consider the promiseof dear painless death, and generouslyforgive life for happeningto them.
