Three Meals

 

Let’s pursue happiness.

No one wants to be sad. Who

wouldn’t be of the same mind?

If only I’d known

you always have a bowl

of misery for breakfast.

 

For lunch you grow a paunch

from devouring platefuls

of secret curses. Sometimes

you share them with me

and we’re both filled with dread.

Each step back to the cube

we couple with resigned grunts.

 

Change might be the order

of the day, by dinner.

But you’ll not have a taste

no matter my coaxing.

I have no appetite, lost it.

Tomorrow’s already screaming

of the things we must do.

It’s in our best interests

then, to keep the job,

the boss, our places.

 

The new always gives way

to the old. And I’m a fool.

Sadness stays because we want it to.

 

 

Etiquette

 

Welcome to my palace!

Wear your smile now.

You must. Here you must.

The Happy People

need not dress in gowns

nor jewels to bear

the royal air, just a show

of teeth will do.

 

Come, have my seat –

No, not that creaking thing,

though – like I always say –

rust and splinters still are

better than the dirt floor.

 

I’ve sent out my court

to the streets –  wilderness

though it may be – to the city.

Soliciting a few coins,

gathering what’s left, good,

from those treasure troves

of wood, plastic, odds and ends.

 

I expect I might offer you

a better chair, a meal even,

fresh from the scavenge,

once my court returns.

 

Don’t frown, or else fortune

will have its way, vengeful

it is to the ungrateful.

 

Weep only when laughter

pushes the tears out,

for in my palace, the smile

is our sole supply.