Read my book on feeling good,
it insisted I must feel good before
good things can be obtained through
its use; I felt the grave injustice in all of
that, if I must first feel good before the
book could have effect, why am I
reading it?
But I went out and skulked amongst
the cars, playing at being a secret agent,
ducked behind the stairs, filled my cool-
drink bottle with another drink as if I were
a-smuggling, all these shenanigans gave
oomph to life; I returned with a face
all smug
I felt really good all by myself, now back
to the book to see what they promise me
when I feel this way, apparently all my
desires will be met; I need camouflage for
my growing flab before hitting the beach
next week, surely after all the ducking
and diving
I’ve done lunch-time, the universe will
deliver perfect camouflage to hide behind
when tackling the ocean!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem