A HAZARDOUS BRUSH WITH AN ABNORMALLY EXTENDED FEELING OF WELL-BEING
Sometimes you can be so happy and it’s inexplicable,
driving your car down the freeway
or sitting in your kitchen eating an apple
or say you just completed a mundane task
like putting two stacks of paper into order.
It has nothing to do with that probably
probably it has nothing to do with anything.
You can actually be happy for no real reason
just as you can breathe for no reason
or take a dump for no reason
I mean, other than the obvious reasons
or maybe it’s only because you can say reason
at least as many times as you’d like
at the end of a line for no reason.
If someone tells you you can’t be happy
tell him take a hike, there is no reason
not to be because if you want it to be it can be
and you don’t even have to have a reason
to be happy, you can just be
kind of like a spider might be happy
sitting up in a corner in her web
trying to think about whether or not
she can understand the concept or even
if she cares or not. There is the web,
and the corner, and someplace flying toward her, lunch,
and someplace a poem that ends with the word lunch.
—from Rattle #33, Summer 2010
Tribute to Humor
Greg Kosmicki: “I write poems because I’ve found that it’s the easiest way to agitate my wife of 36 years.”