Big Laughter, Small Towns Poem by Hans Ostrom

The very big laughter,
rude and unrefined,
in very small towns
all around the world:
it springs, blooms, booms.
Cackling and crackling and thunder.

It needs to make too much of too little,
of nothing sometimes.

Big cities outlaw open laughter,
which is inefficient and free,
not a commodity.

In little out of the way places,
which are litter left behind,
there's never enough that's funny.
Which is funny.

The very big laughter
in very small towns
might be joined
by stomping of boots
on boards, washed clothes
pinned to the wind, and a cluster
of broken conveyances.

If you pass through,
laugh, too; not at.