The Portrait Or How To Be Both Happy and Sad
Dead to the world
he turned to face the wall,
it was an interesting wall,
it had a painting
of his semi-naked ex-wife
hung upon it.
Usually that wall picture
made him both sad and happy,
but this morning he groaned
like a man giving birth
to an unnamed sorrow.
He had become ennuied,
habituated to this strange demonic world,
where he was a criminal without a crime.
In a strange way
he longed for some jail time,
just as long as he could take with him
that portrait of his ex-spouse.
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