THE LAUGH

He saw the clouds from the park bench.

He tore out his coat lining,

removed his hat band,

wrapped the kidnapped infant

and pitched it in the well. Standing with his feet apart,

he pissed, smiling before you did.

I’m speaking about this smile, about night’s spectacles

about the moon’s spectacles. The infant,

no, it wasn’t kidnapped. Nor did there exist

a well or an infant. Only the clouds.