Laugh by Martin Keaveney

Laugh his smile, his body shape standing proud. But no more. Gently, gently I allow him away, fluttering in the breeze, will be, will flakes of something, it is a joke, it is all serious, no one could keep it straight with this for the love of God if that be your taste, for the love of something. To be the one with this burden, light as a cliché, sad old world, sad old place, a joke, a funny sad story, a story nonetheless this needs must, has to be gotten through, never around, a queer therapy really. And far lost and gone we try again in this old circle, that old chestnut, scoop it out and blend it and push it back in again like some kind of comedy. Let me be free beyond the trees, the hills, the flowers, the grasses, the insects, the birds, the lakes, the roads, the paint on the buildings, the implements within the buildings, they offer me a funny kind of freedom, a far loss and gone and it is all too much.

© 2015 Martin Keaveney

Martin Keaveney’s recent fiction includes The Rainy Day in the anthology Small Lives (Poddle Publications), Last Order in Crannog, and A New Freedom in Gold Dust magazine with work forthcoming in Agave Magazine. He has a B.A. in English and Italian and an M.A. in English (Writing) from NUI, Galway, Ireland. He is currently a PhD candidate at NUIG, 2014-18 where he is researching the John McGahern archive and also writing a novel as part of the course.

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