Peculiar Tingly Giddy Goodness
Alex Pickens
Let us consider—
philosophically—those mysteries
that trouble you and me—the ones
we never think of that supersede
pain and love—the phenomenon
that troubled ancients and inspired
the deepest intellectuals:
laughter.
Toddlers with bubbly hiccups—rotund
men with booming bellows—and
snickering schoolgirls behind my back.
What is this noise—this cachinnation
that moves like a wave through—
my brain?
A dusty 1894 encyclopedia defines laughter:
an overabundance of pressure in the abdomen,
which is perhaps why gourmands
are so gregarious and grunting lunks grin
when I flex in their gym.
But let’s be serious—like the psychologists
who say laughter is subverted
expectations when witnessing the absurd, like
a crocodile belly dancing—or maggots
forming sophisticated societies
in roadkill.
Physicians assure us laughter is good
for the soul—if nothing else—but
metaphysicians—indeed, the very father
of philosophy, Plato—despised laughter,
believing his transcendent Republic
would collapse if no one took
the philosopher-king seriously (though,
I suppose Athens had
the last laugh).
Evolutionists say laughter
is a play sign to let others know
we mean them no harm—and psychopaths
would likely agree—if they could—as would
black-eyed cats and squealing babies
playing with dead rodents and broccoli
at dinner.
But whence comes this air, this heaving
phenomenon that mimes sobbing but
is bereaved of meaning?—
unless meaning is found in the meaningless
mocking what it mimics—and perhaps
we laugh to fill the silences between life and living—
perhaps we laugh at our future selves—
who are, perhaps, laughing at us—
or with us.
