Perkiness can only carry you so far.
No matter how often you murmur hope and candles,
fixing the world up like a carpenter
repairing an old house—
not perfect, but sound enough
to survive winter—
It’s not enough.
Sometimes the answer is
tea and solitude
watching snow fall.
Sometimes the answer is
a dinner date in a swanky joint
with someone who laughs
at the way you say swanky.
Sometimes the answer is
a pot of soup
everyone you love around a candlelit table
except they mostly hate soup
so sometimes a dinner everyone will eat
is the answer.
Sometimes the answer is
wait for spring.
Sometimes the answer is
confused. It wanders the streets
looking in every window for you,
the one who treats life like a game of hide and seek.
Sometimes the only poem worth saving
Is the list that holds back dread.
Puff Of Smoke Poems 