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
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
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