Paper Mind

I want to write a happy poem

Because not all of life is sad.

Fourth of July fireworks spewing color across night’s black canvas,

A good-natured wind blowing my unfastened hair into my face

Creating a glorious moment of blotchy sight,

The bustle between the skycrapers,

The sun soaking into my back

As the words of the novel perched on my twin kneecaps

Bleed into my paper mind.

 

The news reports shootings, stabbings, and lootings

While people complain about traffic and hangnails.

The papers pass over the good for the sad,

Newscasters forget to report all but the bad,

People ignore even the small kindness of holding the door,

Or asking “Are you sure you’re ok?”

“That there’s nothing I can do for you?

 

The words are leaking from my transformed paper mind.

What once was a stack of vibrant construction sheets,

Home of liberated doodles and unbounded creativity,

Has become a single sheet of translucent tracing paper.

This was supposed to be a happy poem.