When I crack a smile the whole world breaks into laughter, the
afternoon is the best time to wallop a punch line and grin as the grins begin getting wider and wider and the world is beside you and laughing along.
I saw the night watchman a Scots man move on a tramp who then tramped down the street and his feet beat a tattoo of pain and dismissal although his shoulders held square and his hair well kept and windswept told a story of a proud man and the watchman had gone,
no one in Argyll cracks a smile about that.
Some always get moved on
can’t get their groove on and
they spin down the spiral or
fall through the crack and
laughter’s not the same when you’re flat on your back and down on your luck.
Anyway, before I crack a smile
I crank the engine and idle a while
give a thought for the ones who
have nothing to laugh about,
the war-torn, the still unborn,
the ones who have less than me and
sometimes the laughter lines are not laughter lines,
but are the scars that tell a different story
© 2015, John Smallshaw.