Happiness

(after Elise Powers); poetry

Photo by Alejandro Correa Bayardo on Unsplash

Happiness

(after Elise Powers)

Our neighbor Mrs. Rich starts the world every morning
by walking her six white huskies with little bells that ring 
to the beat of the rising sun, her white summer dress & gloves, 
her black hat shimmering, her six devoted scoopers, their 
black suits & gloves, white hats & bags moving behind her.  
Joggers wave & smile knowing all the while where happiness 
lives.  But then Bob Dylan sneaks in.  He was not in 
the brochure. Whispering through the screen window.  
If dogs run free, why not me?  The huskies respond 
to the lady scatting guttural sounds in his back pocket.  
I did not come this far for this, they conclude, escaping 
as they do out the back door.  The sun stops rising. 
The people too.  They sleep all day.  Even the joggers. 
Even the overachievers.  Even the perfect eaters.  
The non-drinkers.  The plastic surgeon mannequins.  
Even those on schedule to live to 100.  Double 
down on their depression meds.  The rain’s relentless. 
They knock on her door.  They call the police, but 
they’re out chasing wild free things rattling rubbish
& ravaging gardens.  Till finally the sun emerges 
with Mrs. Rich in a redripe wheelbarrow pushed 
by six handsome men wearing nothing but bow ties 
& bells, their six pale moons & bouncy tunes lifting 
us over the horizon.