Archive
04/18/09
Sidesplitters
Driving home, ecstatically spent, after three days away, Having indulged in revelrous camaraderie, With old friends from my North Woods–camp youth — Identical twins, as close to Frick and Frack, in spirit, As any two people I've ever known —
I marvel at just how successfully juvenile we were, At blending laughter and silliness, with happiness, Into a stage upon which we gave uncensored free rein To our Stooges and Marx Brothers routines — A trio of boys, in sixty-year-olds' disguises,
Trying, with all their desperate, puerile might, To cling to that go-for-the-gut-busting kid-schtick (Boasting, between us, a total of seven divorces), Knowing that going home, to whom we've become, Was just a prurient egg-laying groaner or five away.
Now, as I approach St. Louis, The three protracted hours I've put between us Are Don Rickles, Rodney Dangerfield, and Buddy Hackett, Echoing their sidesplitters, until they have me weeping, Longing to be just setting out again.
04/18/09
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