That Laugh

It was stupid of Walt not to show it to Joan before they got married but he was too shy. He had no idea what to expect but he never expected her to laugh. Not a laugh exactly, more of a cackle children might hear from a witch on a broom Saturday morning in a cartoon. Joan's laugh rang out the first night of their honeymoon. Walt never got over it. The marriage was over even if it continued for six kids in ten years. Like many men, Walt had no problem copulating from afar unencumbered by love. It was dark in the bedroom. Joan could have been any woman. Had he shown it to her before they got married and heard that laugh, he would have left town, embarrassed, you bet, but there would have been no wedding, no kids, no divorce, no years in a hotel room mailing alimony and support. After the divorce things didn't improve. Walt heard the laugh in his dreams, in cabs, on elevators, in diners, everywhere he went. He heard it after the kids earned degrees, got married, did well on their own, escaping the pyre of their childhood. At Joan's funeral Walt told the kids why the marriage had failed. He said he shouldn't have shown her the poem the night they were married. She laughed because she thought it was funny. She knew nothing about poetry, nothing of his efforts to write it. This was his first poem, the first of more than 500 published after the laugh. Who'd believe a laugh could end a marriage before it began? Over the years Walt asked critics and editors for their opinions about the poem. None found it funny. The consensus was the piece was tragic in theme and imagery. The experts were right in more ways than one. Donal Mahoney