Bottled Laughter

It has been almost seven years
since that forgotten day
in the hobby shop.

Browsing paint brushes
to blush a miniature
dragon’s scales.

Overhearing the cashier’s
gripe about the height
of his new chair,

I approached the counter.

He sat there, spectacles, rosy smile,
weighing over three hundred pounds.

When I gave him the brushes,
he said something humorous.

For the life of me,
I can’t recall what it was.

As he chuckled at his own joke,
he tilted back, and the stool gave
out from underneath him.

By some divine miracle,
I held a straight face
while saying the only thing
you can say in a situation
such as this,

Are you alright, mate?

He clambered to his feet,
cursed and scowled at the stool
with his hands on his hips.

I purchased the brushes, fled the shop,
and continued to hold in laughter.

On the way home,
I recalled the time I tripped
in the rain, slapped my chin and hands
off the road.

How I shot up like some kind
of lightning bolt in reverse.

And it is tonight,
while stargazing,
while trying to find the words,
while accepting absurdity,
that this memory
chooses to flash
my mind’s eye.

I swear, my lips almost tear
as I laugh so hard tears
roll from my eyes.

And it’s not at his misfortune,
the inelegant tumble or the wild,
goat-like cry he gave.

It is the memory
of his little black boots
punting air
as he flailed on his back
like an overturned beetle.

Steven Bruce is a poet, writer, and award-winning author. His poetry and short stories have appeared in magazines, webzines, and anthologies worldwide. In 2018, he graduated from Teesside University with a Master’s Degree in Creative Writing. He is the recipient of the Literary Titan Golden Book Award, the Firebird Book Award, and the Indies Today Five-star Recommendation Badge. Born in the North of England, he now lives and writes full-time out of an apartment in Barcelona.