Further Thoughts on
Happiness
after Paul Guest’s “One More Theory About Happiness”
That
it comes to you like a storm
with
a bent coat-hanger on a rooftop,
that
it’s insight of the kind
you
hear in a radio commercial
in
between pop country songs
you
accidentally listened to, some scene
fresh
where the distance is regular
like
airplanes that aren’t airplanes or streams
rushing
not standing. That it grows
with
the storybook convenience of sweets
which
you consider, now,
like
Beckett without a broken body,
no
hats. That entire museums
display
it like devout
bald-headed
men on hillsides,
Belgian,
buzzed, and praying.
That
you will save nine
with
a simple stitch in time.
That
you will remember it
the
way you speak of passport applications.
That
you’ll waste it.
That at night your pets
call each other by name.
That aggression is the
source
of most cat nightmares
according to Oprah,
according to the gal
whose face free-falls
from a forehead too
high
riding a pig
from wall to woolen
wall.
That the saddled pig in
this
scenario is helpless,
unless it consults with
the sheep.
That it is better to
have the wool than to watch it burn.
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