I’m carrying a cake over a rope bridge.
The cake represents my happiness,
piled high in whipped cream.
I’m standing in the road with a sheet of glass.
My happiness is hard to see until
you spot your own reflection.
Now I’m dancing with an antique porcelain vase on my head.
I’m pronouncing it vahs.
My happiness is priceless and
its provenance well-documented.
Watch me dance with it on a bed of marbles.
Watch me dance with it on the pool
apron until you laugh and push me in.
How long can I count on this incredible luck?
Whenever I jump off a balcony,
I land on soft, forgiving garbage,
representing my happiness.
Every time I stack my happy oranges
in a happy pyramid on my happy fruit-cart
the high speed chase takes another route.
When we tango across the living room,
I follow your lead with wastebaskets on both feet
and a tablecloth tucked into my waistband.
I don’t take this all for granted.
I always count my blessings
as I juggle them
over an open grate.
It takes my mind off the anvil
on the windowsill
and what it represents.
Keeps it on your smile,
a flaming sword
at the top of its arc.
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