The question is simple
and deucedly literal.
The inflections are obvious
never, and I quote, “frivolous.”
Your suspenders humor me
and the tobacco puffs serendipitously
have no spite to their spot.
But please.
Put me at ease
and answer
the
question.
Are you happy?
Groaning, “Sure,”
you do not have me
convinced.

Excuse my blatancy,
your blonde highlights
frizz the monitor of
comprehensibility.
Happy?
“Almost.”
Are there degrees?

And you?
With the waterlogged sneakers
and curled humidity.
Are you happy?
The shadowed hammocks
beneath your eyes
whine with woe.
But tell me.

Are you happy?
“Sometimes.”

Are you happy?
“Pretty much.”

Are you happy?
“No.”

Are you happy?
“I don’t feel comfortable answering such
a question
as that.”

“Why do you ask?
Are you happy?”

Right now I would say
maybe.

“Maybe?”

It must be so.