Ricardo M. de Ungria
And so I live happily ever after.
I have fathered, written poems, and planted trees.
I get my daily bread and mug of beer.
Fruits spill from the bowls and vased flowers keep fresh.
The drainage works and the telephone rings.
All one-night stands have upped and gone unkissed
and money from teaching restocked the shelves
with groceries. Green has recovered
the mountains, and the air and the waters
have been freed of their annals of big business dirt.
Even the president waxes lyrical,
and stray cats no longer lie squashed on the road.
Books I had wanted to read have been read,
and every music that spared me waltzes played.
Every stolen glance and stolen feeling
returned to their unwitting muses
and all disproportions of desire solved.
But today these happy days remain homeless,
counting the lampposts or asleep in their carts.
They keep seeing things and dream of flying.
I see to their needs and fit them out
to their ends. I square them off against
the emptiness that stepped out of its dream
without warning. I’m ready for anything,
I say. Come. Come and get me.
