On the television screen, a crowd: so many
faces, and so much anger
in each one.
Soon they will go home,
lay down to sleep, and their souls
will be dewdrops on the face
of the Earth.
Why not give them
what they want? For now, for a while
they are all the same, demanding
the password to happiness. Whoever
knows it is absent today,
or else
sharing it with friends somewhere,
over cocktails perhaps,
leaning to whisper it
while ice clinks
and condensation forms
on the outside of the glass,
to each
in turn, as if only to them. Here it is;
don’t write it down to be stolen; keep it
safe in your bulletproof heart.
