The L

Laughter from somewhere
Across the darkened yard
Slightly cruel, gleeful
The flashlight beam catches the
Laugher, wide eyed open mouthed cackler
And the smell of leaves and dirt on his breath
He hasn’t settled yet, the beam bobs
And that now tragic laughter stops
Till an arm, a hand reaches across your sleeping form
And the laugh, a screech from your own dripping gob