Stubborn Misery: A Poem
If for each and every time
I heard folks fuss and bitch
someone gave me little dime
by now I'd surely be filthy rich.
Nothing much that they would miss
their lives being almost complete
I would even say short of bliss
and yet looking always beat.
I tried to help them now and then
with a phrase from some wise book
whether it was woman or it was a man
but all I got out of it was just a dirty look.
Don't ever try to spoil that dark routine
they just don't know what better to feel
insisting on pissed-off and looking mean
their grouchiness not meant to ever heal.
Or play along for sake of fun
imitating those humorless nuts
let them be serious like loaded gun
but have that secret laugh in your guts.