I Was Happy

The litter in the gutter reads
‘I was happy’ – the rest obscured
by cigarette butts. Black and bold
on pink post-it paper, someone was happy
once.

Written for god-knows-what or who.
Is the writer now ‘over it’? Are you happy?
Or have you, like your post-it, been washed away
to become one with that which, eventually, simply
decays

with the helping hand of rain showers
and collections of water and piss and whatever else
helps you rot. I could have saved all this, lifted you up,
but my ignorance of the obscured words that followed
intrigued.

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