Bubbling over at a glimpse
of yellow truck, singing out at every
dog or lollipop—a drop
of hat will do—hell, waking up
induces peals of laughter! They’re abuzz
with businesses and glee. It’s clear
to them what living’s for.
It isn’t clear to me.
For me each item’s a line item,
each occasion an occasion for redress,
reclaiming, recompense, or rue. Given
time’s best gift, I’m always
scheming to return it.
As for the language
of the love of life—
when did my soul unlearn it?