The Necessity of Sadness

Toilet Talk
photo by Danny O'Bryan

On Prosac

So much happiness! It seems
everything I touch shines back, all smiles.
Sadness, that old sot, has packed his bags;
sorrow's folded up her tents, moved on;
anger's banished. What more
could any monarch hope for?

But is this what I wanted, after all?


Sufficiency, serenity, and pleasure
always at my table, in my bed?
What do we do with such a glittering world
that has no room for what you once held dear?
And who will teach me now
to spin straw back from this heavy gold?

Ronald Wallace