Are you happy yet? Do you feel the breeze?
The midsummer cicadas roar at it, satisfied with their lot.
The frogs fill their throats and voice their pleasure
but what about you? Are you happy yet?
A state of mind is much harder to achieve when the brain
locks itself into the wrong room (or unwillingly is sequestered).
Knocking to get out or for someone to hear,
years go by while the dust gravitates to scattered objects hidden or not.
Even the windows are full of green and bird scat
and guano gathers in lonely piles on the floor
and although the sounds are muffled, you can hear
voices through the thick musty smell of old rotted wood hidden by lead paint.
Rain comes and goes, pounding the roof, wind
driving it against the walls in sheets, while rainscent
wafts through the minuscule gaps in your confinement,
leaving its taste on your tongue and in your nose and on your mind.
Are you happy yet? Not yet? Your heart bequeathes a tasteless,
sightless dourness to the visual and auditory senses,
touching cloudless mornings with tainted, dirty hands.
Happy yet? Sure, why not? If you say so.