To write a happy poem don’t you
need to be happy? Liar if you’re not.
At this moment I’m neither happy
So…not much fuel in that tank.
No one wants a gloomy poem.
What’s left? Mad? Ditto for rants.
If no one is happy these days
and sad and mad are verboten,
we could pray and hear our echoes
bouncing between billiard balls
around our table of plenty.
But if hunger and thirst were feelings–
empathy alive in this land–
I’d eat this page in a minute
and spit out the truth in a can.