Happiness

is not a general thing.

It is not a state

it moves

and is digested

like salad leaves

off the plate.

 

Happiness

is not what is.

At rest it disappears

it is the eye of interest

a going there

a doing that

a mind that remakes all

an embracing even of that

which against us might just fall.

 

Happiness

is not a thing.

A car, a child that is mine

it is what can be

what might we always find

never looking behind

it is that fear unfounded

because the eye is up ahead.

Happiness a kind of compass

memory unbled.

 

Happiness

is what is alive.

That is each moment more

in interest

in possibility

how in thought

we can walk through

every door

pushed by the question

what is this life for?

 

 

It’s for your own good

my father belted.

My mother did the same

at the dinner table with peas.

Mr. Drury in grade 7 had me

write lines of “P”s,

“It’s for your own good.” he opined.

 

Cigarettes are now $10 a pack

and casinos $1,000 plane rides away.

“It’s for your own good,” they say.

 

Seat belts, sanitariums and saints

always a safe, sane, step away.

My wife, my ever always wife

books me monthly to see a doctor

as much a dunce as a doctor can be.

All he offers are pills and pleasantries.

They both say, “It’s for your own good.”

 

Wars, weddings, sprayed green lawns

taxes, papal proclamations and government acts.

“It’s all for your own good,” they declare when asked.

 

My life nearly done and

I have yet to truly taste

what we call – free.

I followed footsteps

and danced to my own good

doing as I was told.

 

Thinking back, I now know

how I came to be who I am

this man, here and now

finally at home in the world

on edge, aware,

of what is really good for me.

 

My flusher finally broke.

 

It’s like one day you wake up

and realize there ain’t no jello tree

or the dictionary was written by a pedophile

and

you head out the door to plant or write your own.

 

 

 

It doesn’t matter if

the air con is broke

the car got scratched

or the wine ain’t chilled.

It doesn’t matter.

 

Don’t matter if

the dog went on the carpet

or the DOW’s up or down.

Don’t matter if

there’s an earthquake in Ecuador

or you won the Super 7.

 

No worries about

missing the 9am meeting

drinking too much

drinking too little

no mayo in the fridge

a bad back, a better world.

It doesn’t matter.

 

It doesn’t matter if

the bus is late or

you arrived too early

or

Sunnis are killing Shias

or

Shias are killing Sunnis

or

Justin Bieber is doing time.

Don’t matter if

you are this or

should be that.

Don’t matter if

the dog got your cat or

carbon emissions are up.

It doesn’t matter.

 

It doesn’t matter

if your mother-in-law

hates your guts

or the plane’s delayed.

Don’t matter if

your bank balance is $0

or the remote is broke.

Doesn’t matter if

you don’t finish this poem

or ever do.

It doesn’t matter.

 

Why?

It doesn’t matter.

 

I am here

this is enough

like the last seed pushes

through the rough.

 

Want, desire, need

abstract things I

no longer bleed

the apple now in my mouth.

 

I am here

piss, shit, breath and spit

I lounge and loaf,

there is no longer any

getting on with it.

 

For other there’s

the buzz of progress, nicer hair.

I lift my glass

I walk not where.

 

I am here

this is enough

like the glistening ant pulls

the large leaf through the rough.