Some People Always Smile

walk into rooms with bright goddamn eyes
and bushy stinking tails. It's not that I have
anything against them, really, those strapping,
ear-to-ear, what's-there-to-be-angry-about
types. It's just that I haven't figured out for sure
whether they can smell the piss most of us
happen to be swimming in, or if, in fact,
they've come up with some ingenious program
for success which doesn't involve regularly
drowning friends, loved ones, and other
associates in all the bitter and acid
bodily fluids possible. I imagine
whenever they get to whatever members-only,
good-time club they happen to be headed to
on a given night, with their stupid smiles,
they knock on the door and are required to do
a bit which might go something like this:
"Hi there, beautiful. And how are we
this evening? Well, that's just super. We're
here for the Denial Celebration. No, of course,
we understand, no frowns from us, we promise.
No mentioning epidemics, slaughter, contamination,
or child prostitution; no bringing up famine,
breached treaties, alcoholism, or soil erosion.
We understand. We promise. We're all
smiles." Of course, all they needed to do was
to flash those pearly fangs of theirs just once
and they would've been recognized. The door
unlocks and those happy cows must sit around
staring at each other with nothing to say,
nothing to offer, no risks to take, nothing
to hope for. Nothing to make them feel
real, incompatible, misshapen, ordinary,
or unwanted. Listen, if you can hear me,
all you smilers and laughers out there,
don't worry. I pity you. I really do.
And I can help. Just give me one afternoon,
that's all I ask. I promise I can show you
all the reasons you really have to be
pissed off, and sad, and drunk, and
scared, all the juvenile and life-affirming
passions, the senseless and extraordinary
battles you have yet to really live for.