and dozens of

warm hugs

by good friends.

A tiny pink

pill,

smaller than an aspirin,

unprepossessing,

insignificant in itself,

lightens the load

and makes

the agonies

of life,

and non-love

somehow,

only the dream

of drowsy boredom.

Pain and loneliness,

even one's own,

grow old quickly,

are only the food of

tedious soap operas

better switched off

and ignored

till something better

comes along.

If only

something better

could be packaged

in a pill,

and all life's

troubles

were as solvable,

removable,

as the pointless

weeping

in corners

that go with them.

  

9/3/93