Smile

Smile they say, in a voice of concern,

Why are you always looking so damn stern?

It takes fewer muscles to smile they will say,

Give me a big smile and you’ll brighten my day.

I look at them squarely and count slowly to ten,

Stifling a “fuck you” right there and right then. 

I take a deep breath and count silently again,

What defense can I muster, and where to begin. 

I want to explain that I’m not a buffoon,

A jack-in-the-box or some crazy old loon.

I’m not going to juggle or do a card trick,

To satisfy you, you insufferable prick. 

I swallow my ire and shuffle slowly along,

Failing to argue or tell them they’re wrong. 

Don’t tell me to smile, you’re just wasting your time,

I’m serious by nature, and that’s not a crime. 

--Ken Ferguson--

Artista Di Parole