Happiness...

I was overjoyed when the strip turned pink,

and when the pets sniffed at my belly,

nuzzling their soft noses against me.

I was overwhelmed with joy, for I’d taken

these little moments of life as my securities.

Just like we almost always do while piling up

our bank accounts with savings.

Ironical more so, when we turn away beggars,

lazily dusting that prized porcelain doll

some beloved got for us from Tokyo,

picturing that long-awaited vacation

somewhere with the family around....

Beaches, mediterranean sun, music and laughter

colours, smells of spices, wafting around and joyous chaos

Hum of life would one day be on these ears,

I think as the doll slips through

and shatters into a million shards....

Oh no! That was from Tokyo, never coming back....

While Doris Day keeps singing

Enjoy yourself, it’s later than you think

Enjoy yourself, while you’re still in the pink

The years go by, as quickly as a wink

Enjoy yourself, enjoy yourself, it’s later than you think

I look out...the beggar’s gone. Then a screech of brakes,

neighbours rushing out towards what looks like a tragedy.

I walk up to see the mangled body, the unkempt beard,

the stained shirt and broken nails....

Oh no! That man was somebody too, never coming back....

The pets...one day they’re no longer playful,

seldom stirring up, languishing, distant cloudy eyes.

Sclerosis, the doc says, but there’s something worse

than those unseeing and vacant eyes.

Their hearts... missing rhythm, their kidneys failing....

So I give him the final nod and return to an empty home.

While Doris Day keeps singing

Your heart of hearts, your dream of dreams, your ravishing brunette

She’s left you and she’s now become somebody else’s pet

Lay down that gun, don’t try, my friend, to reach the great beyond

You’ll have more fun by reaching for a redhead or a blonde

I pick up my son, and smell the soft baby skin and powder....

I hold hands with my parents, as they console me every which way.

I tell myself I still got my childhood sweetheart beside me,

who’s my husband now, no longer a clown, rock solid now....

But I don’t pay heed to Doris Day.

Years roll by, and I return to a really empty house,

sans parents, sans sweetheart, sans pets and sans baby powder.

I look at his handsome young face in the photograph, kiss it goodbye.

The silence overwhelms me, and I turn on the radio.

Doris Day again....

This time I listen for the first time, do my dishes,

take my pills, apply lipstick, clean up the space....

I no longer depend on momets of joy,

I nod away to a blissful loll, a book in my gnarled hands.

I’m happy now, because I’m free.